
I LI BRARY OF CONGRE SS. 

^ [SMITHSONIAN DEPOSIT.] 

UNITED STATES OF AAIERICA. 









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She was sitting beside the railing of the fence of the Brick Church, 
on the corner of Park Row and Beekman Street. p. 12. 










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Ptaria C^eesman; 




OR, 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 



WITH A PREFACE. ' 

BY REV. JAMES W. ALEXANDER, D.D. 

OF NEW YORK. 




•‘y/ 


AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION, 

No. 816 CHESTNUT STREET. 


NEW YORK: No. 147 NASSAU ST. 

BOSTON: No. 9 \CORNHILL CINCINNATI: 41 WEST FOURTH ST. 

LOUISVILLE: No. 103 FOURTH ST. 


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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855 , hy the 
AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION, 
in the Clerics Office of the District CouH of the Eastern District of 
Pennsylvania. 


No books are published by the American Sunday-School Union 
without the sanction of the Committee of Publication, consisting of four- 
teen members, from the following denominations of Christians, viz. Bap- 
tist, Methodist, Congregational, Episcopal, P-esbyterian, Lutheran, and 
Reformed Dutch. Not more than three of the members can be of the same 
denomination, and no book can be published to which any member of the 
Committee shall object. 



» 


/ 


PREFACE. 


The luxuries, temptations, and crimes of 
great cities are so obvious as to have become 
proverbial ; so that, perhaps, we are in danger 
of overlooking God’s work in the same. If 
Rome was, according to a famous saying, a 
‘‘sink of iniquity,” and Corinth was but an- 
other name for a home of voluptuousness, these 
same points were nevertheless radiating centres 
of the gospel. 

. The newspapers, catering for a depraved 
hankering after the details of flagitious deeds, 
keep the country duly informed of all the igno- 
rance, superstition, . drunkenness, mendicity, 
starvation, theft, violence, and destruction of 
the town, till, perhaps, the country is ready to 

forget that Christ has a people, and that the 
1 ^ 5 


6 


PREFACE. 


Holy Spirit is doing wonders of grace within 
these same limits. 

The truth is, wherever God’s people are 
found adjacent to masses of evil, they are seen 
to operate mightily on these masses. When 
the enemy comes in most like a flood, the Lord 
lifts a standard most on high. The more 
iniquity becomes rampant, the more does holy 
love contend against it. Such should seem to 
he the order of divine administration, in all 
cases short of utter rejection, or those in 
which the Lord sends Lot out of the Sodom 
which no longer contains its ten righteous. 
Hence, the diligence, the skill, the self-denial, 
and the liberality of true Christians in cities 
and great towns have been remarkable in every 
age. For the exercise of these graces there 
is, alas ! too much requisition ; and the utmost 
endeavours of an army of earnest workers can- 
not as yet counterwork the busy sons of 
Belial. 

It is a most cheering consideration that there 
is no evangelical church in our cities and great 


PREFACE. 


7 


towns which does not comprise a goodly num- 
ber of beneficent persons, who spend a portion 
of their time in works of mercy ; in visiting 
the fatherless and the widows, and what the 
Bible calls strangers — that is, foreigners; in 
relieving the sick, the aged, and the prisoner ; 
in gathering and teaching the ignorant ; in dis- 
pensing good books ; and in kindred endeavours 
to glorify God by lessening sin and woe. 
There are not a few city disciples who devote 
their whole available time to such labours. 

Public attention has, for a few years, been 
specially directed to the vagrant youth of our 
streets. Prom among these, many have already 
been rescued and placed in the way of im- 
provement, under kind and religious guardians. 
The pages which follow relate such a case, not 
in the shape of ingenious fiction, but in the un- 
varnished record of literal truth. 

The name of Maria Cheeseman has for a 
number of months been familiar to the church 
which I serve ; and many of our brethren have 
been witnesses of the events to be related in 


8 


PREFACE. 


the following pages, and have traced them, step 
by step, to the happy conclusion. Although 
the names of the good Samaritans who found 
this suffering one by the wayside . are covered 
in the narrative by a slight veil, they will be 
recognised by hundreds of readers, and will 
thus add authority to the evidence. The story, 
as it now appears, was prepared by a gentleman 
of the bar, who is at the same time a valued 
member of the church under my pastoral care. 
The text of the publication will itself evince 
the diligence and Christian love with which he 
has performed his task ; it only remains for us 
who stood by and beheld the providential 
development to attest the truth of the nar- 
rative. 

If the very remarkable series of incidents 
here set forth should secure as warm an inte- 
rest in the reading public as it has already 
awakened in those who have seen and heard it, 
the result will be important in several respects. 
The marvellous ways of the God of providence 
will seem manifestly the same in our modern 


PKEFACE. 


9 


time as in the days of old; and thoughtful 
believers will remember the youth of Joseph 
and of Daniel. The blessed work of Sunday- 
schools will shine more brightly ifi the eyes of 
the church. In particular, the merciful man” 
will be led to go out into the thoroughfares 
with fresh hope of snatching children and youth 
from the destruction which this moment threat- 
ens tens of thousands. 

In conclusion, it must be permitted me to 
say, that if there are in the church on earth 
any servants of God who deserve our affection- 
ate respect, our intercessory prayers, our aid, 
and our imitation, it is those who, as Sunday- 
school teachers, missionaries, and visitors, ad- 
dress themselves to the unpaid, wearisome, and, 
in certain respects, disgusting and thankless 
work of daily converse with ignorance, pauper- 
ism, and vice. Go on, honoured and beloved 
brethren and sisters in Christ ! Be not weary 
in well-doing ! Walk thus in the Master’s 
steps ! 


J. W. A. 


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MARIA CHEESEMAN. 

# 


CHAPTEE 1. 

THE FIRST INTERVIEW. 

The first day of the year eighteen hun- 
dred and fifty-four was Sunday. It was 
clear and cold— one of the coldest days 
of that year. The streets of the city 
were almost deserted, and the few that 
were about were well guarded against the 
biting frost. Here and there a “ newsboy” 
was seen braving the keen air and crying 
his papers, while his teeth chattered, and 
every gust of wind seemed to pass through 
and through him. Here and there, too, a 
shivering woman or a half-frozen child 
might be seen at the corners, with apples 
and candy to sell. But with these excep- 
tions, the current of life, fiowing back and 
forth through the streets- of the great metro- 
polis, seemed for the time congealed. 


12 


MAKIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


On the morning of this day, a girl-, ap- 
parently about twelve or thirteen years of 
age, was seen fitting beside the railing of 
the fence of the brick church on the corner 
of Park Eow and Beekman Street. She 
wore an old patched cloak over a soiled 
dress, and a thin, common calico sun-bonnet. 
She had by her ^de a basket filled with 
apples and candy. 

She was shivering with cold. She had a 
full face, made ruddy and rough by exposure 
to the piercing wind ; and though she had a 
sad, sufiering look, one could not fail to see 
patience and truthfulness in her counte- 
nance. She had light hair, decently combed, 
and the expression of her mild blue eye in- 
dicated an unusual degree of gentleness and 
delicacy. 

On that Sunday morning, as Mr. C , one 

of the secretaries of the American Sunday- 
school Union for the district of Kew York, 
was passing the place, he noticed this little 
girl with her basket. ‘‘Surely,” thought 
he, some stern necessity must have driven 
her out in this severe weather;” and he 
stopped and spoke to her. 

“ Where do you live, little girl ?” 


THE CANDY-GIKL. 


13 


“ At 345 Pearl Street, in the third 
story.” 

And why do you sell candy and apples 
on Sunday?” 

‘‘I can’t help it, sir.” 

“ Do your parents allow you to break the 
Sabbath ?” 

‘‘ I have no parents : they are both dead.” 

“Whom do you live with?” 

“I live with Miss Dougherty.” > 

There was an air of good-breeding about 
the child, and a frankness in answering, 
that enlisted the friend’s attention, and her 
sufferings from the intense cold at once 
awakened his sympathies. 

He proceeded to question her further. 

“Why do you live with Miss Dougherty?” 

“Oh! I belong to her.. She takes care 
of me.” 

“ How long ago did your father and mo- 
ther die ?” 

“ My father died in England before we 
came to this country, and my mother died 
here, after we came over; and my step- 
father gave me to old Miss Dougherty.” 

“ Can you read ?” 


2 


14 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Have you got a Bible?” 

“Ho, sir. I used to have one, but I 
haven’t any now.” 

He at once went to his room in the rear 
of the Brick Church, brought out a Hew 
Testament, and opened it, and asked her to 
read ; and found she could read quite well. 

“Would you like to go to Sunday-school ?” 

“ Yes, sir ; but Miss Dougherty won’t let 
me. She makes me sell apples and candy 
every Sunday.” 

“ Perhaps I will come and see you. 
Where did you say you live ?” 

“At 345 Pearl Street, in the upper stoiy.” 

“ Will you keep this Testament and read 
it, if I will give it to you ?” 

“ Yes, sir, I vill.” 

He gave the Testament to the child, and 
went about his official duties. Passing 
round through the Park and on the side- 
walks opposite to the church, she continued 
to sell her apples and candy during the 
whole of this severe day, until dark. She 
watched the people, and saw other children, 
with their parents, going to the house of 
God. She heard faint sounds of music as 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


15 


the assembly of God’s people sung his 
praises, and all these things awakened sad 
memories in her heart, for she too had been 
taught to frequent the house of God^ 

It was on this same Hew year’s day that 
a new mission Sunday-school had been 
opened at 143 Keade Street, in a little room 
about twenty-five feet wide. A Sunday- 
school connected with a church in the upper 
part of the city had established this school 
and paid all its expenses. They employed 
a missionary to conduct it on Sunday, and 
during the week to visit the poor in the 
vicinity, going from house to house, acquiring 
their confidence; to pray with them, per- 
suading them to send their children to the 
Sunday-school ; to distribute tracts and 
Bibles ; to minister to the sick and dying, 
and to provide homes in the country for the 
orphans, the neglected, and the forsaken. 

This mission-school was opened in one of 
the many dreary moral wastes in the city of 
Hew York where there is no Sabbath, no 
church, and no Sunday-school ; where scarcely 
a Bible can be found in any habitation; 
where the houses are crowded with emi- 
grants ; where the streets swarm with mise- 


16 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


rable, ragged, half-civilized children; and 
where the haunts of sin and shame are seen 
on every side. 

The Sunday-school that had undertaken 
this missionary work, and the church with 
which it was connected, were once situated 
near the place where the new mission-school 
was organized. For, as most of our readers 
are aware, the business portions of the great 
metropolis have gradually extended until 
they have embraced large sections that were, 
a little while ago, occupied with dwelling- 
houses. The inhabitants being thus driven 
away by the advance of commercial enter- 
prise, sought residences in the remote por- 
tions of the city, and there provided them- 
selves with houses of worship. Of course, 
those who did not remove were, in many 
cases, left without their accustomed church 
privileges. The edifice in which the gospel . 
had been preached being removed, and the 
site occupied by some magnificent hotel 
or block of stores, no monument remained 
to indicate the spot where once the gospel 
of Christ had been preached, and where 
once stood a temple dedicated to his wor- 
ship. 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


17 


It need not be said that by thus withdraw- 
ing the means of grace from the midst of 
those who most needed them, the kingdom 
of darkness gained quite as much as the 
kingdom of Christ. The people of God 
were taking great care of themselves, but 
the servants of the world and sin were left 
to wander and perish. The Sunday-school 
connected with the church in its new loca- 
tion resolved to raise one solitary banner of 
the cross to mark the spot which once they 
had possessed in the name of the Lord. 
They believed in the command, ‘‘ Go 
preach,” as well as Come, hearken.” 

Upon this, the first Sunday in the year, 
the first humble effort of this mission-school 

was made. Mr. C , the missionary, was 

present in the morning. Fourteen or fifteen 
scholars came, but no seats could be pro- 
vided. In the afternoon they came again, 
each received a tract and a few words of 
counsel, and then they were dismissed with 
promises of better accommodations the next 
Sunday. The person who had met the little 
candy-girl on the street in the morning, 
came to this school in the afternoon to wit- 
ness the first experiment. As he sat by the 
2 * 


18 


MARIA CHRESEMAN; OR, 


fire witTi tlie missionary, Mr. C , after 

the scholars had gone, he spoke about the 
little girl he had met in the morning, and 
about the probability of finding her. He 
could not forget her sad, suflering counte- 
nance. 

It was now nearly dark. Do you think 
we can find her? Had we better try it 
to-night?” were ventured questions. 

The missionary was a man of work. He 
said — 

think we can find her. "We can try it, 
at least;” and so they concluded to go in 
search of the girl. 

It was a freezing night. She lived away 
more than a mile from them. As they 
hurried on through the forsaken streets, 
pinched wfith the cold, they beguiled the 
time in a dialogue like the following : 

“Well, it would be too bad if, after all 
this, the little thing should deceive us!” 

“ Yes ; I should not like to be imposed on 
such a cold night as this.” 

“ But she seemed like an honest, well-bred 
child ; and we must not take it for granted 
that all these poor, hard-working children 
are impostors.” 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


19 


When they reached the place, they con- 
cluded they had come on a fool’s errand. 
The house was a high one, and looked like 
some large factory. There were no lights 
in it, and it seemed deserted. One of them 
looked up to the house, and said — 

“Well, she does not live here. I think 
we had better go home.” 

“ But,” said the pther, “don’t let us give 
up, now we have got here ; let us go up 
stairs and look.” 

They entered the dark side-hall, and 
groped their way up three flights of dirty, 
rickety stairs to the garret of the house, 
and there, some one in the entry said, lived 
Mrs. Dougherty, on the opposite side of the 
hall. They knocked at the door, and a 
sharp female voice, in a very unwelcome 
tone, said, “ Come in.” 

Thej^ went in. It was growing dark, and 
Maria had just come in from the street, and 
was trying to light a fire. The fire afibrded 
just light enough to show a forlorn-looking 
room, under the roof, with one window, and 
one bed. Maria’s basket, and the Testament 
which had been given her in the morning, 
were on the table, a heap of kindling-wood 


20 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


lay beside a little stove, and a few old cbaira 
comprised all the furniture and comforts of 
this miserable apartment. Maria seemed 
very much astoni&hed to see them. The 
woman was quite softened in her manners 
when she saw two respectable-looking men 
in her room, and received them with much 
apparent good-will. She asked them to 
take seats. She was a woman of small 
stature, perhaps fifty years of age, spare 
frame, thin, sharp features, with a hard, se- 
vere expression. She seemed feeble in 
health, and appeared as if sickness and dis- 
appointment had soured her temper. 

Mr. C told her he had met Maria in 

the morning selling apples and candy, and 
he was sorry to see her breaking the Sab- 
bath, — that it was hard to compel such a 
child to go out and labour all day on Sun- 
day. 

She said she knew it was bad, but she was 
obliged to do it, — that she had nothing to 
buy food even that day until Maria came 
home with her money. • 

This was a hard argument to answer. 

They then told her she ought to put her 
to some other occupation, or into some 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


21 


good family. 'No ; slie would not do that. 
Maria must work for her, or she would have 
nothing to live on. She said Maria was 
not as badly off as many other girls, — that 
she had done a great deal for Maria, and 

now she must work for her. Mr. C pro- 

posed that she should go and live in his 
family. Ther old woman would not hear a 
word of it, and said, She would not let 
her go to live with the president.” 

_ “ But you certainly must not send her 
out on Sunday. Suppose you let her go to 
the Sunday-school? We have just got a 
new one started in Reade Street, and we 
want all the children we can get.” 

“R’o, sir; I can’t let her go: I am too 
poor. I cannot get any thing to eat on 
Sunday until Maria comes in ; and you 
would not let a poor creature, like me, 
starve to death, would you ?” 

“But don’t you know it is very wrong to 
make a child, like her, break the Sabbath ?” 

“ Yes, I know it is ; but I don’t think it 
is so very wrong for poor folks to work 
Sunday, who can’t live without.” 

They then asked the old woman if they 
might pray with her, and she consented. 


22 MARIA cheeseman; or, 

Thej kneeled in prayer in Ihat miserable 
garret, and in that prayer they commended 
this little child to the care of God, and 
asked that he would save her from sin and 
wretchedness, and lead her in paths of right- 
eousness, for his name’s sake. 

How that prayer in this upper room was 
answered, the sequel of the child’s histqry 
will show. 

From that hour, light began to shine on 
her pathway. The next Hew Year’s day 
did not dawn on her through the window 
of that miserable garret. It did not behold 
her toiling painfully, hopelessly, through cold 
and snow, in the streets of Hew York, for her 
daily bread, — a slave to the will of another. 

Before leaving the old woman, these 
visitors asked how much Maria earned on 
Sunday. She said four or five shillings. 
They then promised to give her fifty cents, 
if she would allow Maria to come to the 
Sunday-school the next Sabbath. She 
finally consented to this arrangement. 

They spoke a few kind words to Maria, 
told her exactly where the school was, and 
that she must certainly come ; and, paying 
the fifty cents, they left her. The old wo- 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


23 


mail professed great seriousness and regard 
for religion, and was profuse in her bene- 
dictions ; and they felt their way down the 
dark stairway to the street. 

Thus began, and thus ended, this !N^ew 
Year’s day to the little subject of our story. 
Its dawn brought no ray of joy to her as it did 
to thousands of children in the great city ; 
but its close left a beam of hope, which 
was like sunlight in her soul. She had found 
a friend. Kind words, for the first time in 
many years, had been spoken to her. 

These gentlemen made their way home, 
feeling that they had performed a duty in 
visiting the fatherless, and hoping they had 
found one scholar for the new mission- 
school. This was all they knew ; but they 
had, in truth, set in motion a train of causes 
which, directed by the hand of Providence, 
were to save this neglected orphan child 
from a life of wretchedness. 

We would here suggest that the true 
mode of efiectually prosecuting missionary 
labour among the most abject in our great 
cities, is to visit them in their homes. Go 
and seek the lost in their cellars, in their 
garrets, in their sim Let the missionary do 


24 


MARIA CHEESEMAN: OR. 


it statedly; always labouring in- his own 
district, from house to house, until he is 
known, until he has gained general confi- 
dence by Jais sympathy, by his ministrations 
in sickness, by his benefactions in their dis- 
tress. He is thus prepared to gather the 
pupils of his Sunday-school. He has a hold 
upon them when secured, and can bring 
religious truth to their more serious atten- 
tion. 

When he visits these children at home 
during the week, the impressions made by 
the two hours of Sunday teaching are con- 
firmed, while otherwise they might be ob- 
literated by an unchecked course of worldli- 
ness for the other six days. 

We believe that one great object of mis- 
sion-schools should beio seek out and follow 
up individual cases. The wild, ragged, and 
wicked children of our city will never be 
saved in the mass. If they are saved at all, 
it will be by taking them one by one, wherever 
they can be found. The visiting missionary 
will get the confidence of a large number of 
parents. Some pinched by poverty, and some 
in order to remove their ofispring from their 
own sinful example, will give up their chil- 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


25 


dren to him, to provide a home. A widow 
will leave her orphan to his kind care when 
she dies. He will find a forsaken child 
wandering in the streets. He will find the 
young emigrant houseless, friendless, about 
to be decoyed into a course of shame. He 
will find the child, enslaved and abused by 
another "who has no legal control over her, 
as was the case with her whose history now 
engages us. One by one, he provides for all 
these cases. This child will he sent to one 
institution, and that to another; one to a 
good place in the country, another to a good 
family in the city. The law will be invoked^ 
to give protection to the oppressed, for 
whom a home with Christian influences 
will be provided. There is hope for every 
one thus rescued. There is scarcely any 
hope for those who are not. 

May not the labours of that mission- 
school of which we have spoken,, carried on 
by a small band of self-denying teachers, he 
adduced as an example ? 

By the eflTorts of this humble institution, 
sixteen children in one year have been re- 
moved from vile associations, miserable 
dwellings, and extreme poverty, to homes 

3 


26 


MABIA CHEESEMAN; OK, 


of Christian influence — ^generally in the 
country. Some were found wandering in 
the streets, some left orphans, and given, as 
one poor dying mother said, “ to our folks.” 
One young emigrant girl, a stranger, just 
landed, was found wandering in the streets, 
without a single friend in the country. 
Some were given up by their parents, who, 
with one spark of parental love left, desired 
to save their children from their own sinful 
^courses. One, a little hoy, was found al- 
most starved to death in the streets, driven 
;awKy by a drunken father. 

All honour be to those who are engaged 
fin these labours! The mission-schools of 
our great cities are among the most remark- 
able features of our times. Their rapid in- 
crease and their wonderful success show 
that the hand of God is in the movement. 

They are the hope of our great cities, 
and the true reform associations. Few 
sights on earth are more touching to the 
Christian heart than the view of the thou- 
sands of poor children . now gathered every 
Sabbath in the mission-schools of the city 
of New York. Let the eye wander over 
the area from river to river, on any Sunday, 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


27 


looking in upon a band of German children 
here, reading the Bible in the language of 
the fatherland ; and there upon a school of 
Jewish children, reading theiN’ew Testament. 
Farther on is a collection of ragged news- 
boys, and in another place a class of Chinese. 
At the Five Points are a thousand or more 
of sorrowing poor ; while all along the East 
Eiver is seen school after school, with from 
three hundred to eight hundred children, 
gathered from the docks and streets. Mark 
the contrast! In the instruction of these 
schools some of the best energy, talent, and 
piety of the church is acting upon the worst 
and most degraded elements of society. It 
is like the sunlight breaking in upon the 
clouds and chaos of an unfinished creation. 

From the lips of these thousands of 
wretched, neglected, and sinful children, the 
voice of praise is resounding. The word 
of God is read by them, and they hear the 
voice of prayer. The hand of God is cer- 
tainly in this work. Is it not emphatically 
the work of the Christian churches in our 
cities ? What Christian can excuse himself, 
when the finger of God’s providence so 
plainly points to his field of labour ? 


28 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


Lift up your eyes ! Behold, the field is 
white to the harvest ! The field is all around 
you. You pass over it every day. There 
are eighty thousand children, this day, in the 
city of Yew York alone, without the privi- 
leges of the Sunday-school, without the 
means of grace, without the Bible. They 
are heathen. Any number of these can he 
brought under religious teaching. The pro- 
vidence of God has prepared the field for 
occupation. Yew enterprises are waiting on 
every hand. The appeal for teachers is loud 
and earnest. Veterans who have been 
honourably dismissed from service have 
heard the call, and have returned to duty. 
The call for men is still pressing ; and yet 
there are hundreds, yes, thousands of men — 
young men, others in middle life, strong 
men, rich men, men of leisure, educated 
men, enterprising men — in our churches, 
who have not responded to this call. When 
pressed to enter this service, they say, ‘‘ Oh ! 
I cannot teach. I have tried it, and have 
no faculty for it. I never could get along 
with it. You must get somebody else, who 
has a tact for it.” 

It is painful to hear a Christian man make 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


29 


such excuses. Is it possible that the Lord 
has made a man, given him education, com- 
petency, a station in society, an enterprise 
for business, a standing in his church, and has 
shed abroad His love in his heart, awakened 
holy and Christ-like emotions and sym- 
pathies in his soul, — and yet has not given 
this disciple of his the capacity to teach the 
Bible to a poor, ragged, ignorant boy, wait- 
ing for instruction in our mission-schools? 
Does not the difficulty lie farther back ? Is 
he, really willing to do his duty ? Appeals 
to such men are often answered by saying. 
Here is my money, but you must excuse 
me.” Hot your’s, but you, are called for. 
Your gold and your silver are the Lord’s al- 
ready. He asks for you. The command is^ 
Go, WORK TO-DAY IN MY VINEYARD.” 

“ Rouse to some work of high and holy love, , 

And thou an angel’s happiness shalt know — 

Shalt bless the earth while in the world above. 

The good begun by thee shall onward flow 
In many a branching stream, and wider grow. 

The seed that in these few and fleeting hours 
Thy hands unsparing and unwearied sowed. 

Shall deck thy grave with amaranthine flowers, 

And yield the fruit divine in heaven’s immortal bowers. 

, 3 * 


30 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


CHAPTEE n. 

THE RESCUE. 

On Monday, the second day of the year, 
Mr. C , the missionary and the superin- 

tendent of the Eeade Street Sunday-school, 

requested Miss M , one of the teachers 

of that school, to make, if possible, some ar- 
rangement with Mrs. Dougherty for Maria’s 
attendance regularly at school. The same 

day. Miss M called at Mrs. Dougherty’s, 

in her garret, hut was not very graciously 
received. 

She made known her errand, and urged 
Maria’s attendance at school on Sundays ; 
but Mrs. Dougherty pleaded her great 
poverty, and the necessity she was under to 
use the child as a means of obtaining some- 
thing to eat. To obviate these objections, 
it was finally arranged that, for the present, 

she would receive, through Miss M , fifty 

cents’ worth of groceries each week, and that 
on this consideration, Maria should not be 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


31 


sent out to sell apples and candy on Sunday, 
but should be allowed to come to the school. 

The little girl seemed to have waked up 
to a new life. The idea of going to a Sunday- 
school made her heart joyful, and lighted up 
her thin, sad face with a glad smile. 

Thus did this orphan find another friend 
whom she will never forget. This was the 

first visit of Miss M to this desolate 

home, but not the last. This little girl had 
now a strong hold on the heart of her 
teacher. Her truthfulness, seriousness, afiec- 
tion, and gentleness, won the confidence of 
all who knew her. During this severe 

winter. Miss M w^as often- seen in that 

garret as a visitor and a comforter, led there 
by affection for this orphan child, as well as 
by a sense of duty. ' 

On the next Sabbath — the second Sabbath 
of the Hew Year — Maria (now familiarly 
called ^‘The Candy-Girl’ was at the Sun- 
day-school in Eeade Street. Here, for the 
first time since she left England, she was in 
a place of worship, and heard the voice of 
public prayer. Strange thoughts must have 
passed through her mind — thoughts of other 
days, when she had been a Sabbath scholar, 


32 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


in another land — a joyous, happy child. How 
wide the chasm between! How dark her 
path through it! Yet an angel hand had 
led her on. 

She was placed in Miss M ’s class, 

and was found to be an intelligent scholar, 
earnest in learning the ^truth. She showed 
a maturity of judgment and a degree of 
seriousness and good-breeding which at- 
tracted unusual attention. For the first 
time in more than five years, she read the 
Bible. She also received a library-book. 
Through these means, divine light began to 
beam on her mind. 

As she lived on the east side of the town, 
at some distance from the Reade Street 
School, it was considered best that she 
should attend the Roosevelt Mission Sun- 
day-school, which was near her residence ; 
and she was accordingly transferred to that 
school during the ensuing week, and an ar- 
rangement made with Miss S (her teach- 

er there) to receive a ticket every Sabbath 
for fifty cents’ worth of groceries; which 
was taken by Maria to Mrs. Dougherty, as an 
equivalent for her Sunday services in selling 
apples. She was one of the best scholars in 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


33 


the school — always present, attentive, and 
thoughtful, and seemed to prize instruction 
and the Bible as new and precious blessings. 

How would all Sunday-school scholars 
value one hour’s instruction from the Bible, 
if they were doomed for years to forego these 
privileges — to hear no prayer — to visit no 
church, nor even to read the Bible in all 
that time ! 

Maria had a refinement, a gentleness and 
docility of manner which showed that she 
had been trained under better infiuences than 
those which now surrounded her. 

Her first teacher. Miss M , j^nd the 

missionary, Mr. C , frequently visited her 

during the winter at her forlorn home. 
They found Mrs. Dougherty always there, 
generally complacent, but always complain- ' 
ing of her poverty. She told them that 
Maria was an English child; that her mother 
died many years ago at Hew York, when 
Maria was very young, and before she could 
do anything for herself; that she, (Mrs. 
Dougherty,) by request of the child’s father, 
then took her and provided for her; and 
that Maria had lived with her ever since. 
She said Maria owed every thing to her, and 


34 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


she had now just become able to do some- 
thing for her. From Maria they learned, in 
general, that she came from England with 
her parents about five or six years before ; 
and that soon after they landed, her mother 
died ; that her step-father, who was intem- 
perate, had left her with old Mrs. Dougherty ; 
and that she had ever since lived with her. 

This was all that, as yet, was known of 
the child’s history. She attended Sunday- 
school regularly during the winter and 
spring of 1854, until the latter part of April. 
Every week-day — in sunshine, rain, or snow — 
she was seen in the streets, from sunrise till 
night, selling apples and candy. 

Her place of resort was along the Park, 
in Chatham Street, opposite the Brick 
Church, or by the Astor House, corner of 
Yesey Street. Her face was well known to 
those accustomed to pass these places, and 
“the candy-girl” had many friends who 
never knew her name, whence she came, or 
whither she went. 

It was a life of severe labour for a child. 

Her friend, Mr. C , frequently paid her 

a visit at the corners of the streets, and by 
kind words encouraged her in her hard ser- 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


35 


vice. He hoped, by a kind Providence, to get 
ber a good situation in some family ; and tbis 
seemed to be tbe beigbt of ber ambition. 

During tbis time sbe said little about tbe 
woman in whose garret sbe lodged ; but it 
was afterwards learned that these were bard 
times for tbe poor girl. The old woman bad 

become jealous of Mr. C , and feared 

that be was trying to get the child away 
from ber. Her health was feeble, and sbe 
was growing daily more morose and severe. 
Sbe was, at times, impatient and cruel. Sbe 
was an Irish Catholic, and had been forsaken 
by ber husband. Sbe bad one son, about 
sixteen years of age, who lived with her, and 
was ber especial pet — spending tbe money 
that was earned by Maria’s toil. 

Tbis poor girl suffered actual persecution 
in ber efforts to attend tbe Sunday-school. 
Sbe often, and, indeed, generally, went after 
a cruel beating, as it was stated by those who 
lived in tbe adjoining room. Yet sbe al- 
ways went, and appeared cheerful and happy ; 
for hope was lighted up in ber heart, and sbe 
there found friends and sympathy, for which 
ber heart had yearned for years in vain. 

Maria was earning from fifty to seventy- 


36 MARIA CHEESEMAN ; OR, 

five cents a day, for her employer, and she 
might well fear to lose her. Almost every 
day, when she came in from the streets, the 
old woman would inquire if she had seen 

Mr. C and talked with him, and what 

he said ; and would accuse her of designing 
to leave her. 

She would attempt to awaken her fears, 

too, by telling her that Mr. C only 

wished to get her into some Protestant 
family or school, and shut her up, to make 
a Protestant of her ; and she was constantly 
upbraiding Maria for caring more for Mr. 
C and Miss M than for herself. 

‘‘ This was about the hardest time I evei 
had with the old woman,” said the child. 

Sometimes, when she scolded at me, I 
would cry, and then she would beat me ; and 
she would get angry at the least word I said, 
and strike me. She would say the Sunday- 
school was a bad place ; that we ought not 
to read the Bible. 

Thus things went on until the latter part 
of April, — the old woman receiving weekly 
her supply of groceries. 

The friends of Maria began to think it 
was time that their weekly contributions 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


3T 


to Mrs. Dougherty should be withheld; 
and accordingly Maria was soon after 
notified that no more tickets would he 
given. 

On the next Sabbath, (April 22,) Maria 
was not at the Sunday-school. The old 
woman had refused to let her. go, and the 
tears and supplications of the girl were 
unavailing. 

She was sent out again into the streets, on 
Sunday morning, to sell apples and candy. 
It was a sad blow to her hopes and her pride, 
and a terrible wound to her conscience. 
She; had been trying to do right and to be- 
come respectable. In conversation, after- 
wards, with Maria, we asked her, “What 
seemed the darkest time in her life V 

She said, “I rather guess it was when 
Mrs. Dougherty took me away from the 
Sunday-school. I thought, somehow, by 
means of the Sunday-school, I might get 
away from the old woman, and get a place 
in a family ; hut now I thought it was all 
over, and that I never could get away.” 

A dark cloud of despair seemed to have 
gathered over her again, and all her fond- 
hopes of rescue from her miserable life wero 


38 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


disappointed. To her it seemed a calamity ; 
but 

“Behind a frowning providence, 

God hides a smiling face.” 

It was the means of her rescue, and of her 
restoration to home and friends. 

Mr. C ascertained, on Monday, that 

she had been taken away from the school, 
and he then determined to invoke the aid of 
^the law and take Maria from the old wo- 
man. The plan was matured during the 
week, and on Saturday morning he con- 
sulted a lawyer as to the possibility of arrest- 
ing Maria as a vagrant. It was found 
practicable. He then went before one of the 
authorities of the city, and made his affida- 
vit of the facts relating to her, stating her 
orphanage, and the cruelty of the old woman. 
An order was obtained for committing Maria 
to the guardianship of the ‘‘Home for the 
Friendless.” But the most difficult part of 
the task remained — namely, to seize the 
child and convey her to her newly-con- 
stituted guardians. 

Before making the arrest, Mr. C con- 

cluded to try persuasion with the old woman, 
.and to get her consent to Maria’s going to 


THE CANDY-GIKL. 


39 


some other place to live. He accordingly 
went to Mrs. Dougherty’s garret, found her at 
home, and tried to persuade her to give up 
the child. But she was very angry and abu- 
sive, and said, as usual, that “ Maria should 
not go to live with any one— not even with 
the president ; that she was her girl, and she 
would keep her in spite of anybody.” 

Mr. C now proceeded to Chatham 

Street, to find Maria. He did not find her 
opposite the old church, and he went to the 
corner of Centre Street ; but she was not 
there ; and he began to fear he might lose 
her after all. He asked an apple-woman, 
near by, where Maria was, and was told she 
had gone to the corner of Broadway and 
Yesey Street, under the awning where she 
always went when it rained. 

Mr. C now procured a policeman to 

serve his warrant and arrest Maria. They 
found her, about five o’clock in the after- 
noon, at the corner of Broadway and Yesey 

Street. Mr. C went up to her very 

quietly, and said that he wanted her to go 
with him to a good home he had found for 
her. But when she saw the officer with his 
star, (the badge of a Hew York policeman,) 


40 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


slie at once became frightened, and said she 
would not go. The officer told her she must 
go, that they would not harm her ; and he 
took hold of her arm. She began to cry and 
scream with fear, thinking she was to be 
taken to prison. She said she had not done 
any thing wrong, for which she should go to 
prison. She had only sold apples and candy ; 
and this she repeated again and again. 

Her screams and resistance in such a 
public place drew a large crowd around 
and produced a great commotion ; and all 
inquired what the poor child had done, that 
she should be taken as a thief. She appealed 
to the multitude that she had done nothing ; 
and for a few moments they seemed inclined 
to rescue her from the officer. A large num- 
ber of the crowd were Irish labourers ; and as 
she was in great terror, she called to mind 
what Mrs. Dougherty had said to awaken her 
fears, and she cried out, “ They are going to 
take me away and make a Protestant of me 

But the circumstances of her case were 

explained to the bystanders by Mr. C 

again and again, and finally they approved 
of the proceeding, and told Maria she had 
bettei' go with the officer. 






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They took her as she was, with her basket on her arm. p. 41. 



THE CANDY-GIKL. 


41 


They took her just as she was, with her 
basket on her arm, into a railroad car stand- 
ing in front of the Astor House. She was 
convulsed with sobs and trembling with 

terror. While on their way, Mr. C tried 

to calm her ; told her where she was going, 
and that she would have a good home, 
which she had wanted so long. But she 
cried, and said she had done nothing wrong. 
And all the people in the car gathered around 
her, asking why she was arrested ? She at 
length became somewhat reconciled, and 
then she began to be troubled at leaving the 
old woman so abruptly. She requested Mr. 

C to take her basket, apples, and money 

to the old woman, Or she will think,” said 
Maria, that I have stolen them and run 

away.” Mr. C promised to return them 

that night. 

On their arrival at the “ Home” Maria was 
committed to the care of her new guardians. 

It was a strange home to her, and, child- 
like, she began to be homesick ! Mr. 

C and the policeman left her, to return 

to the old woman with Maria’s basket, 
apples, and money. They made their way, 

for the last time, up to the garret, and told 
4 * 


42 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR. 


her that Maria had gone ; that the law had 
provided a new home for her ; and that this 
was done because she had ill-treated her. 
The old woman was astonished at the intelli- 
gence, and begged to have her hack again 
— ^promising to do well by her. But Mr. 

C left the house, telling her it was too 

late. The old woman followed him down 
stairs into the street, and along the side- 
walk, taking hold of his arm, beseeching 
him only to tell her where Maria had gone. 

But Mr. C was inexorable, and the 

policeman only laughed at the old woman’s 
new-born affection for the child. She had 
taken her last look at the poor child. 

A neighbour, who had every opportunity 
to know, stated that she scarcely ever went 
out after this while she lived. She stayed in 
her room, indulging her appetite for strong 
drink, and cursed the Protestants until death 
closed her mouth, which was some time 
during the following summer. 

Maria’s sojourn at the “Home” was very 
short : she came there on a Saturday night ; 
on the next Monday, they sent her and a 
number of other girls, with one of the 
officers of the institute, to the western part 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


43 


of the State of ]^ew York, for the purpose 
of obtaining homes for them in the country. 
JTo place had been provided for Maria before 
she left. One of the girls had been engaged 

to Mrs. M , of Tonav^anda. When the 

company arrived there, Maria was left with 

this girl at the house of Mrs. M for a 

few days, while the lady who had accom- 
panied'them went to Niagara Falls. When 

the lady returned for Maria, Mrs. M 

preferred Maria to the girl who was intended 
for her. This arrangement was assented to ; 
so that, in the short space of one week, 
Maria had left a home in the garret in the 
city, had ended a life in the streets, and had 
found a new home in a Christian family in 
a quiet country town. Yes, now, for the first 
time since she left England, she was in the 
country, and saw the blooming trees, the 
green fields, the running brooks, and the blue 
mountains. She said, ‘‘Every thing looked 
so beautiful !” and reminded her of the days 
when she was in England with her grand- 
mother. In the family of Mr. and Mrs. 

M she was treated with great kindness. 

She won their afiection. 

Mrs. M said, in one of her letters to 


44 


MAKIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


Maria’s friends in 'New York, It was sur- 
prising that she had so few faults.’’ She was 
obedient, honest, conscientious, and, what is 
too rare in children, she was perfectly truth- 
ful. We do not mean to say that children 
generally tell deliberate falsehoods, but there 
is such a thing as suppressing a little of the 
truth, or allowing a person to misunderstand 
us, or give a little colouring to our state- 
ments. W ould that all children were like the 
great and good Washington, who could not 
tell a lie ! 

ll^othing is more important than to culti- 
vate the habit of perfect truthfulness, so that 
we shall love truth, and breathe it in every 
word, express it in every look, and think it 
in every thought. Abhor lying, deceit, and 
all equivocation ; strive against the 'hahit of 
deceit — for it is, with some persons, a habit 
almost unconquerable. The Bible is very 
full of instruction and warning on this sub- 
ject: ‘‘Keep thy tongue from evil, and thy 
lips from speaking guile.” “ The lip of truth 
shall be established forever, but a lying 
tongue is but for a moment.” “ Lying lips are 
an abomination to the Lord, but they that deal 
truly are his delight.” If you speak at all. 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


45 


speak the truth, without fear or favour, to 
high'or low. It was this love of truth, per- 
haps, more than any other thing, which 
gained Maria so many friends wherever she 
went. 

And now we find the little candy-girl” 
at a good home. All the gentle influences 
of a domestic life, like the genial sun of 
spring, were now beaming upon her heart, 
and were bringing forth there all those 
tender plants of confidence, love, and joy 
so natural and beautiful in the child. She 
attended the daily school and Sunday-school 
regularly. Her young heart had felt a long, 
stern winter, which had gone far to stifle 
these childlike emotions. How, like a gar- 
den in spring, they were all unfolding them- 
selves in loveliness. 

She mingled with children and engaged 
in their sports, and began to show the viva- 
city and joyousness of girlhood. It was a 
new thing to her. She was born in the coun- 
try, yet for years she had seen nothing of the 
face of nature hut the ^‘Park,” and heard 
nothing but the ceaseless noise and hubbub 
of a great city. How she was among scenes 
' familiar to her earliest years. Who, that was 


46 MARIA cheeseman; or, 

born in the country, does not bless God for 
it ? What youthful mind does "not love its 
beauties? What young heart does not bow 
in adoration to the God whose glories are 
beaming everywhere ? The wide landscapes, 
the majestic mountains, the quiet valleys, 
the lakes and hills, are objects among which 
the thoughts delight to rove — refreshing to 
the man of care, and a solace to old age. 
Happy the man who has been reared in the 
country, and happy he who can rear his 
children there ! God made the country, 
and man made the town.” I should like to 
stand on the Alps, to muse among the classic 
ruins of Home and Athens, tf) tread the 
sacred scenes of Palestine; but my heart 
bounds at the thought of visiting my 
early home in the country — the old house 
under the elms, where I was born ; the hill- 
top overlooking the river, where I have 
watched the setting sun and the rising moon ; 
the shady walk through the forest, winding 
along by the little brook ; every old familiar 
tree, and bank, and hedge, and rock, where 
I have, so many hours, sat musing on the 
life before me; the churchyard, where lie 
buried my father and my mother — these 


THE CANDT-GIKL. 


47 


scenes we love, and to them we turn with 
longing desire in manhood, and their 
memory will he green even in old age. 
Here we were horn, and here would we die 
and he gathered to our fathers. 

We beg pardon for such a disquisition 
on nature ; but we hope to induce our young 
city readers to seek her acquaintance in her 
own quiet bowers; and our young country 
readers to prize the blessings they enjoy, and 
not turn their backs upon her face to seek 
the dusty, noisy, dangerous walks of a city life. 

Here Maria had her home for a short 
summer. She was also under Christian in- 
fluence in a family of prayer, where she was 
instructed in religion. Her duties were 
domestic. The family consisted of Mr. and 

Mrs. M , and a little boy named Willie, 

whom they had adopted. 

Maria became much attached to Willie, 
who was a sickly child. It was her delight 
to take him out under the trees, and to 
amuse him with flowers. 

Thus had the Lord provided for this little 
orphan, and fulfilled his gracious promise — 

When my father and my mother forsake me, the Lord 
will take me up.” 


48 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


“He shall judge the poor of the people: he shall save 
the children of the needy, and shall break in pieces the 
oppressor.” 

“ He shall deliver the needy when he crieth, the poor 
also, and him that hath no helper.” 

“He relieveth the fatherless and widow.” 

He had crowned the humble efforts of his 
servants with success. The command is, 
“ Defend the poor and fatherless,” do justke 
to the afflicted and needy : “ deliver the 
poor and needy.” This had been done. 

The friends of the poor “ candy-girl” were 
rewarded for their persevering effort; and 
who can tell what good they have done? 

He that converteth a sinner from the error 
of his ways shall save a soul from death and 
hide a multitude of sins.” Blessed is he 
that considereth the poor. The Lord will de- 
liver him in time of trouble.” 

Miss M Maria’s first fervent friend, 

continued to take an interest in her, and 
even visited her during the summer at 
Tonawanda. 

Maria could now write letters, and their 
correspondence was frequent. 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


49 


CHAPTEE in. 

THE LOST FOUND. 

After Maria had been for some weeks at 
Tonawanda, the family in which she lived 
began to question her about her early life. 
They ascertained that she came from Sel- 
linge, Kent county, England ; that her grand- 
parents resided there when Maria left Eng- 
land, and that they were then in good cir- 
cumstances. But five or six years had elapsed 
since she had left them ; and she had never 
heard from them since, and had no expecta- 
tion of hearing. 

Mrs. M , with the fertile and practical 

benevolence of a Christian woman, conceived 
the thought of writing to the grandparents. 
They were perhaps living still, and might be 

able to do something for Maria. Mr. M 

said it was of no use ; the letter would never 
' get there ; and if it did, it would not find her 
grandparents. They were probably dead. 

That it was a ‘‘woman’s notion” to send 
5 


50 


MAEIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


across the Atlantic to find the grandmother 
of a little beggar girl ! 

Mrs. M was not by all this to he de- 

terred from writing. It would do no harm, 
at any rate. So she commenced a letter to 
Maria’s grandmother, giving a brief statement 
of her life in this country. It seemed very 
much like sending at random; but Maria 
was now anxious that it should go. Some 
strange hope possessed the child that good 
would come of it. 

Before it was finished, it was laid aside for 

weeks and almost forgotten by Mrs. M , 

so faint were her expectations of its being 
of any avail. But the child’s hopes were 
awakened; she could not forget the unfin- 
ished letter; perhaps it might reach her 
grandparents. So Mrs. M finally de- 

termined to finish and send it. Maria 
added a few lines to the letter, and it was 
directed to 

3Ir. Thomas CheesemaUj 
SelUngej 

Kent County^ 

England. 

and posted with scarcely a reasonable hope 
that his aged eyes would ever peruse it. But 






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See! The old man looks at it. p. 61. 


i 



THE CANDY-GIBL. 


51 


Maria’s dearest hopes followed that same 
letter. It was the message of a young, sigh- 
ing, outcast orphan from the place of her long 
exile to her early home — to the hearts that 
loved her once. It was committed to the 
fickle ministry of the winds and the waves 
which wafted it. Yet God, who rules the 
winds and the waves, took care of the mes- 
sage. 

The poor child said, “ I prayed every night 
that it might reach them, and that they 
might send for me.” We ought to follow 
that letter in its travels by stage-coach, rail- 
road, through post-offices, upon steamboats, 
along the rivers, over the ocean, through 
England and her great metropolis, down 
through Old Kent, until some messenger 
takes it into the farmhouse of Mr. Cheese- 
man, and presents it to a gray-headed old 
man in small-clothes, with spectacles on his 
nose, and an old woman sitting beside him. 
See ! the old man looks at it, examines the 
post-mark closely: “Why, it is from Ame- 
rica ! What can it mean ? Ko one there 
has any business with me 1” 

The thought, to be sure, darts through his 
mind, that he once had a little grand-daugh- 


52 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR. 


ter there ; but she must be dead long before 
this. 

From whom can it he ? It is opened with 
a trembling hand. It flashes out in the 
first few lines that Maria is living. His 
whole frame trembles. He cannot hold the 
letter. Thank God! Thank God!” he 
exclaims. ‘‘She was dead and is alive 
again ; she was lost hut is found.” How 
the old lady tries her skill at reading the 
letter, and with little better success; hut 
amid sobs and tears at last the whole truth 
comes out. The child whom they had 
sought and prayed for, for years, and given 
up for lost, was whispering her sighs into 
their ears. She was safe, and as pure as 
when, years ago, in her infancy, they had 
given her a farewell kiss. 

There was fervent thanksgiving in that 
farmhouse that night. Mr. Cheeseman now 
began to make his arrangements to have 
Maria brought home to England. Mrs. 

Cheeseman answered Mrs. M ’s letter, 

and wrote to Maria, and the return message 
was committed to the post. This letter 
was longer in its passage than it should 
have been. 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


53 


While all this was taking place in Eng- 
land, the little candj-girl was awaiting, in 
great anxiety, some news to decide her fate. 

An answer to her letter, if it came at all, 
should come in less than thirty days from the 
time it was sent. She says, About the time 
we expected it, I went down to the post-office 

every day when Mr. M did not go : hut 

no answer came in the thirty days. I kept 
waiting, hoping it would come. I prayed 
every night for it. But it did not come, and 
I had almost given up all hopes of it. One 
day, after school in the afternoon, I was at 

home with Willie, and Mrs. M ’s brother 

came in and asked for her. She was not at 
home, hut he stayed about the house until 
about tea-time, when she came in ; and then 
he went up to her, after she took her bonnet 
oflj and looked very funny, and said, ^ Here is 
something for you and he handed her a 
letter, and at the same time he looked at 

me. Mrs. M took it and looked at the 

outside, and then said, ‘ Why, Maria, this is for 
you.’ I began to tremble a little, and Mrs. 

M said, ‘Why, how red you look!’ Iknew 

it was from my friends. She opened it, and 

read it aloud. Here is what she read: 

5 * 


54 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


" Mr. and Mrs. Cheeseman cannot find words to 

express their thankfulness to Mr. and 3Irs. M , 

for having in part restored their long-lost grandchild. 
It is the wish of us all that you would send her to 
us, but in doing so we see the difficulty. We shall 
be greatly obliged to you, and will repay you, if pos- 
sible, for all and every expense that may be incurred. 
We should prefer her being sent to London, with an 
advice from you to that effect, and as to a berth for 
her, we will leave to your decision. 

We will also thank you if you will write us the 
name of the vessel she may come by, and also the 
name you enter her in. My husband will remit 
you the money in whatever way you may name; 
either through our banker, who has agents in Ame- 
rica, or other ways you may name. 

With gratitude, I remain your obliged 

Maria Cheeseman. 

Barrow Hill, 

Sellinge, near Ashford, 

Kent, Old England. 

Sellings, Aug. 1, 1854. 

My dear and long-lost grand-daughter : We have 
this day, July 31st, received your letter; and praised 
be the Lord, who has so miraculously preserved you 
from the dangers of the wicked world ! And may 
the Almighty Power send down his blessings on those 
benevolent persons who have thus far sheltered and 
fed you ! Your disposition will ever, I trust, lead you 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


55 


to pray for their prosperity in this life and perfect hap- 
piness in that which is to come, and ever to look on 
them as the good Samaritans. It is the wish of your 
grandfather that you return to him, if you like. He 
has had many sleepless nights, not knowing where to 
search for you, having wrote several letters to Ame- 
rica, but none were answered. Your uncles and 
aunts are all married and have children. Mrs. Pol- 
lard has often inquired after you, and will, no doubt, 
he glad when I tell her of your welfare. So we all 
will ; and all desire our best love, with a kiss of af- 
fection. And believe me. 

Your affectionate grandmother, 

M. Cheeseman. 

I am now 72 years old. 

God bless you ! 

This was the long-expectea letter; and how 
every word must have thrilled the heart of 
Maria! Every painful doubt had now dis- 
appeared. Not only were her grandparents 
living, but they still loved her, and their 
hearts were still open to receive her. The 
day after this letter was received, she wrote 
to Miss M , in New York, as follows : 

My dear teacher: I sit down to thank you for 
your kind letter. I thank you for the interest you 
have taken in my welfare. I haven't missed but 


56 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR. 


two Sabbaths since I commenced going. I often 
think of the Sabbaths I spent in the streets of New 
York. I have been to school eight weeks, and have 
studied arithmetic, geography, spelling, and reading. 
I have to-day received a letter from my grandmother, 
that I have written to since I came here ; and I hope 
to see my friends in England again. I am fond of 
Willie, and very well pleased with my home. Miss 

C said she would come to see us, but she has 

not come yet. I thank you for those papers that 
you offered to send me ; and I would like to hear 
from you again. Sincerely yours, 

Maria Cheeseman. 

A new world had now dawned upon the 
candy-girl. She was to return to England 
as soon as her grandparents sent the neces- 
sary funds. But a delay of some weeks was 
occasioned by not receiving letters from 
them. Through the letters of Maria and 

Mrs. M , Mrs. Cheeseman had learned 

of Maria’s first teacher, and of her kindness 
to the child; and to her Mrs. Cheeseman 
sent twenty-five pounds (one hundred and 
twenty-five dollars) to pay Maria’s passage 
hack to England. 

The money was enclosed in a letter, of 
which the following is a copy : 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


57 


Sellinge, Oct. 19, 1854. 

My dear and unknown friend: With this, I send 
the money whereby you will he enabled to com- 
plete that work it has pleased the all-sufl&cient God 
to inspire you to commence — that of restoring an 
orphan to her relatives and home. Verily, the Lord 
omnipotent reigneth; and praised be his holy name 
for causing the hearts of strangers to sympathize for 
an orphan and destitute child of affliction! We are 
at a loss to express our thankfulness for so beneficent 
an act; and may the Lord pour down his gracious 
blessing upon those most truly Christian persons 
who possess that virtue and charity which, we read, 
survives the wreck of the world, outlives time itself, 
and will be forever the work of the servants of God I 
I have taken the liberty of sending the money to 
you, as, from the tenour of your letter, we infer that 

probably Mr. and Mrs. M may have left Tona- 

wanda. Mr. M speaks of the great expense 

they have been put to in clothing and getting the 
dear girl to New York. We are willing and de- 
sirous that you should compensate them according to 
your idea of the case. We wish to avoid all super- 
fli^ous expenses, being only in the middle class of 
society — domestic farmers ; and if you, dear madam, 
will do, or cause to be done, that of procuring a 
berth in a first-class cabin, for Maria’s return to 
England, also to see that she has suitable clothes 
for her voyage, with sufficient necessaries in the 


58 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR. 


clothing department, and see her on board, making 
an agreement with the captain — a written one is 
the best — that there may not be any thing unplea- 
sant when she arrives in England, — you will greatly 
oblige us. We also shall be thankful if you will write 
us of her departure from you, and to what port the 
vessel will be bound, and the ex'pected time of her 
arrival in England. We should prefer London; and 
should you, dear madam, at any time, visit England, 
I should be proud to receive you at our domestic 
home, Barrow Hill Farm, Sellinge, near Ashford, 
Kent — distant from London seventy-two miles, and 
close to the Wester nhanger and Wyth station, 
South-Eastern Bailway. 

The cause of my delay in writing has been that we 
have not been able to get an order to have the money 
transferred to you — there are so many difficulties 
which we were not aware of — and we could not get 
any information in London what the expenses were 
likely to be from America. There does not appear 
to be any specific terms ; but the bargain must be 
made, in the best manner possible, with the captain. 
The expenditure of the money we leave to you ; and 

should Mr. M accompany her to New York, of 

course you will be pleased to remunerate him accord- 
ing to your ideas; and should the sum sent be not 
sufficient, we will remit you more. We have friends 
in New York. (This letter states their address and 
residence.) If you, doubting our veracity, will take 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


59 


the trouble to inquire, they will satisfy you of our 
responsibility. This gentleman saw Maria at our 
request, but, most probably, was at a loss how to get 
possession of her, although his heart yearned to do 
so. After her dear mother’s death, we lost sight of 
her altogether : and we knew that her step-father 
had deserted her. We have very many good insti- 
tutions in England — London particularly. Your’s 
is called the Home of the Friendless, our’s the 
Orphan Asylum. To you, my dear madam, we 
beg our best thanks, best regards; and to Mr. and 

Mrs. M our thankfulness for all their kind 

exertions ; and to dear Maria my best love, with a 
hope she will have a pleasant voyage. 

Your’s respectfully, 

Maria Cheeseman. 

This letter arrived in the early part of 
l^ovemher. It was not convenient to bring 
Maria at once to lYew York, and she re- 
mained at Tonawanda until the first of the 
following January, when she was brought 
to l^ew York by the ladies of the Home for 
the Friendless, who were her legal guardians. 

Here she became the guest of Miss M , 

who held the funds to pay her outfit and 
passage hack to England. She was so 
changed when she returned, that her friends 
hardly knew her. She had become fair and 


60 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


ruddy, and that careworn, old look which 
she once had, had given way ip a happy, 
childlike face. She had become stout and 
strong. Her fidends in Hew York desired 
she should sail in a London packet in' the 
first week in January. But it became neces- 
sary to prepare her some clothing ; and now 
Maria, for the first time, began to see Hew 
York as it is. 

Heretofore she had only been a street- 
girl, carrying her basket from her home to 
the Park. Hever had she been within a 
respectable house or among respectable 
people. How she went shopping with Miss 

M . But her small purchases were soon 

made. Miss M and Maria were very 

busy during the whole of the first week in 
January in making up her clothing; and 
Maria worked from morning till night. 
She sewed with great facility, and better 
than most young girls ; for she had had a 
long apprenticeship in the art of making 
shirts for old Mrs. Dougherty, dmdng the long 
winter evenings in the garret. 

But the ship “American Congress,” in 
which she was to sail, was detained from 


THE CANDY-GIKL. 


61 


day to day until Friday the 12th. This 
delay was trying to Maria’s patience, for 
she was a good deal excited, and very de- 
sirous to depart; and it was now nearly 
four months since she had heard the call of 
her aged grandparents to her to return. 
During the last week of her stay in IN’ew 
York, she visited different parts of the city. 
She never had been above Chambers Street, 
during the years she was in Yew York, 

until Mr. C and the policeman took 

her. She was always obliged to work, so 
that she could not go ; and she had never 
seen any park in Yew York but the City 
Hall Park. 

On the second Sabbath of January, she 
paid a visit to the Keade Street Sunday- 
school. It was just one year since she first 
went there — an eventful year to her. She 
also paid a visit to the Eoosevelt School ; 
and, on her way back, she went with her 
teacher to the old room in the garret, where 
she so long lived with Mrs. Dougherty. A 
neighbour, and one of her early friends, told 
her the old woman died during the summer, 
and that she had money in the bank, which 

her son had taken, out and squandered. He 
6 


62 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


said he was veiy glad Maria had found her 
friends. 

Here she was again, in the garret where 
she had passed so many years of sorrow— 
where she had been whipped and abused — 
where she had worked so hard during the 
winter evenings — where she had prayed for 
deliverance — and where she never heard a 
kind word. It was all over now, and it 
seemed like a dream. 

Some of our inquisitive young readers 
may be inclined to ask. Who is this little can- 
dy-girl of whom you are telling us ? Where 
did she come from? What was her early 
life ? Why do you begin in the middle to 
tell a story ? Why not begin at the begin- 
ning? 

We answer that we are not making a story, 
hut relating facts ; that every incident, even 
the most trifling, in this simple narrative, is 
true. It is written that it may awaken an 
interest in hundreds and thousands of cases 
of poor, labouring, suffering, yet deserving 
children, whom we daily meet in our walks 
through this city. We introduce our little 
candy-girl as we found her toiling through 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


63 


the streets of New York, seven days in the 
week, painfully earning her subsistence. 

During the last few days of her stay in 
New York the incidents of her early life 
were drawn out. We must allow her to tell 
her history in her own way. W e feel certain 
that all she said is true. There was a can- 
dour and diffidence about her statements 
which could not fail to awaken the fullest 
confidence. Although she spoke of things 
which seemed at first almost to have faded 
from her memory, yet there was intelligence 
and coherence in her statements. She must 
now he her own historian. 



f 


64 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


CHAPTER lY. 
maria’s story. 

Since I came to America, I have been 
sick so much, and worked so hard, and been 
scolded at so much, that I have kind of for- 
gotten almost all I used to do and all I 
learned. 

“ My father died when I was a few days 
old, as I have heard my mother say. My 
mother was the daughter of Mr. Cheeseman, 
who lived at Sellinge, Kent county, England. 

“I had a twin-brother. His name was 
John. The first that I can remember is, that 
I and my brother John were living with an 
aunt — a sister of my mother — at a place in 
Sussex, called Lewes. I guess I was then 
about five or six years old. My' mother did 
not live with us, then. She had gone to be a 
ladies’ maid in a family by the name of Lloyd. 
This family were rich people, and went to 
live in Ireland in the summer, but lived in 
Brighton, near London, in the winter.” 

“Did you go to school at Lewes?” 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


65 


“ Oh yes; I went to school every day, to a 
Miss Dalton. I was learning to read and 
write at her school. Write — ^you know — lines 
in books. It was rather queer writing, I 
guess. Johnny did not go to the same school 
with me. I remember he was pale and had 
something the matter with his head. And 
the boys used to trouble him ; so my aunt 
sent him to a smaller school. Lewes was a 
large place. I believe there was a wide street 
with large houses and trees on each side.” 

“Did you ever go to a Sunday-school 
there ?” 

“ Oh yes. I went every Sunday, and had 
the same teacher as we had in the day-school. 
W e used to go to church, too. It was called 
or sounded like ‘All Saints.’ My mother 
used to come often from Brighton to see us, 
and we were happy then, I suppose. 

“ The next I remember is, that my aunt 
took me to Sellinge, in Kent, near Ashford, 
but my brother remained at Lewes with my 
aunt. I remember we went on a railroad. 
My grandfather, Thomas Cheeseman, and his 
wife, Maria Cheeseman, lived there. My 
grandfather was a farmer ; I know I felt glad 
to go to my grandmother, for she was well 


66 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


off, and I liked to go to the country, it was 
so pleasant, and my grandmother was kind 
to me. I remember there was a high hill, a 
little way from the house, called Barrow Hill. 
But the house was on a level street, all sur- 
rounded by flat, green meadows. It was a 
square white house, two stories high. I don’t 
know whether it was brick or wood. I re- 
member, when we walked heavy on the floors, 
they would kind of shake. Over the street 
door there was a porch ; and honeysuckles 
and some other flowers and vines used to run 
all o^er it, and hang down all round it. The 
house had flve rooms in it. They were on 
each side of a hall ; and there was behind the 
house, two or three steps going down, a little 
brick wash-house, we called it. 

There was a flower-garden in front of the 
house, full of vines and flowers, which my 
grandmother and I used to take care of. 
And at the side of the house there was a 
vegetable-garden, and fruit-trees. We had 
two peach-trees, but not so many peaches 
as we have here. We had strawberries, 
raspberries, gooseberries, currants, cherries; 
and we had one flg-tree. There were 
smooth meadows of grass, back of the 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


6T 


house, and there were, sheep in it. There 
was a brook running through the meadows, 
which they called the river. All along the 
river there were trees, and willows which 
hung down over the water. 

‘‘My grandfather used to raise a good many 
hops and vegetables for market, which they 
sold at Ashford. Some of my uncles lived 
with my grandfather, and helped him. I 
remember my grandfather. He was rather 
a short man and stout, with grayish hair, 
and always looked very kind. It was spring, 
I know, when I went to live with my grand- 
mother, for, I remember, she sent me out 
to pick primroses and other flowers — can’t 
think of all the names. I used to pick them 
every morning, and put them in flower-pots 
on the mantel-piece in the parlour. I used 
to love the flowers, they were so sweet and 
pretty ; and we always had them around in 
the room. 

“ I think I lived here with my grandmother 
about two years. She was very kind to me. 
I did not go to school, but she taught me 
every day in the forenoon. She used to give 
lessons in reading. They were pretty hard. 
She would not tell me one of the words, but 


MAEIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


made me find them out by saying the letters 
over.” 

“You mean spelling out the words.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ Why, did you think that hard ?” 

“ It seemed pretty hard to me then — I was 
so little. After a while, I used to cypher, too ; 
and I wrote in a book, every day, two of those 
things — I forget what you call them.” 

“You mean copies, don’t you ?” 

“Yes, sir, that’s it — lines on the top to 
write after. I used to get all these lessons 
in the forenoon, and recite to my grandmo- 
ther in the afternoon. I sewed a part of the 
time, and then went out to play in the yard 
or in the meadow where the sheep were. I 
recollect I used to play with one little girl — 
I don’t remember her name ; — but she used 
to come very often in the afternoon, and we 
would go into the meadows and get butter- 
cups and daisies. They used to grow there 
all around the fields. Sometimes we would 
go along by the river, but we were pretty 
careful not to go too near, for. we might fall 
in. Sometimes we went up on the hill 
where my grandfather had a hop-garden, 
and got some kind of grass which grew 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


69 


there. It was glossy, and would be shaking 
all the time, and looked very pretty. They 
called it, there, toddle-grass, or something 
like that. My grandmother used to put it 
in glasses on the mantel-piece; and she 
very often sent me for it. My grandfather 
raised a good many hops, which he sold. I 
used to like living there — every thing looked 
so pretty in the country.” 

Thus this little child — so soon to be a 
wanderer and an outcast in a foreign land, 
and in the midst of a great city — was gain- 
ing pure and elevating impressions of the 
glorious works of the Creator. A love of 
the beautiful was here implanted in her 
mind, and nature was painting most charm- 
ing scenes on her memory, which were, 
in after years, to be a solace to her. 
What, beside religion, so elevates the soul, 
awakens and cherishes pure and noble 
thoughts, as the contemplation of nature in 
her rural beauty, grandeur, and sublimity ? 
This influence could be plainly traced on 
the mind of this child. 

Happy they whose early associations are 
with the country scenes — who in childhood 
loved 


70 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


“ The rocks and rills, 

The woods and lofty hills.” 

But we must let Maria proceed in her 
answers to the numerous questions which 
were put to her, and which awakened all her 
latent memories of early days. As she called 
to mind these scenes, the pictures would 
come up fresh and new to her recollection, 
and spread a glow of sunshine over her face. 

« My grandmother taught me to pray 
every night when I went to bed. She 
sometimes took me up stairs to bed, and 
sometimes my aunt did. But I always 
kneeled down at the foot of the bed and 
said the Lord’s prayer. She taught me 
another prayer, but I have forgotten it, — I 
have been sick so much in the hospital 
since I came to this country ! But I never 
forgot the Lord’s prayer; and I have always 
said it at night, while I lived with Mrs. 
Dougherty, but not in the morning, for she 
would not give me time to say it. When we 
got up in the morning, we did not all say 
our prayers together, as you do here ; but 
each one said their prayers in their own room. 
But we used to read the Bible together. 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


71 


‘‘I had a book my grandmother gave me, 
with a black cover, which I studied and read, 
and which had something for every day in 
the year in it ; I think they called it ‘ col- 
lect,’ or some such name. I used to take 
it to church with me. I kept this hook 
until I came to this country, when it was 
sold by my step-father, with all my other 
things. I always went to church. My 
grandmother went only in the morning. 

“ I used to learn a good many hymns ; hut 
I have forgotten them — it was so long ago. 
I have heard them sing one here, in the Sun- 
' day-school, which I used to know, hut I can’t 
remember it now.” 

‘‘ Can’t you remember any of the words ?” 

‘‘Well, there was something about 
‘bursting bonds,’ or ‘chains.’* My grand- 

* Reference^ is probably made to Dr. Watts’s version of 
the seventeenth psalm, — so familiar in our religious assem- 
blies. The original version begins with the line, 

“Lord, I am thine, hut thou wilt prove,” &c. 

In several of our American collections, the first two verses 
are omitted, and the first line of the. third verse is, 

“What sinners value, I resign;” 

and the last verse, and that which seems to have made the 
deepest impression on Maria’s mind, is — 

“ My flesh shall slumber in the ground 

Till the last trumpet’s joyful sound; 

Then burst the chains with sweet surprise. 

And in my Saviour’s image rise.” 


72 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


mother used to« go often to Ashford to mar- 
ket, and then she would bring me home 
some nice things. She once bought me a 
wax doll, and I kept it till some one on 
the ship, when I came over, sat on it 
and crushed it. At another time, she 
bought me a Bible and some nice books. 
She once bought me a drawing-book, for 
drawing pictures of birds and such things ; 
and I could draw a good many pictures 
on it. 

“My mother bought me a work-box, once, 
which I liked very much. All these things 
I kept until I got to America, hut they all 
went, with the rest of my things, after my 
mother died. I felt the worst about losing 
my drawing-slate and my Bible. 

“ My grandmother taught me to sew marks 
on samplers, — you know, — mark letters and 
names; and, just in the way as they make 
book-marks, I could make a butterfly, and 
birds in a cage, and other things. I had a 
large sampler full of such marks. This was 
sold too, with my other things.” 


So pleasantly passed the spring-time of 
Maria’s life— that happy period of child-- 


THE CANDY-GIBL. 


TS 


hood when all is joy and sunshine and 
hope. How tenderly she was nurtured and 
taught by parental affection ! 

The genial influence of love, descending 
like dew upon her childlike heart, awakened 
all the gentler sympathies of her sex and of 
her nature. She was dependent, conflding, 
full of affection and responsive sympathies ^ 
— delicate plants of early blossom found in 
the heart of the gently-nurtured, and there 
so beautiful to behold. How terrible to see 
them wither before the chilling winds of 
adversity, neglect and want ! 

It is easy, from these few gleanings of 
Maria’s personal history, to obtain a correct 
dehneation of her character. 

She was an amiable, affectionate, and con*- 
fiding child. She had a happy home in old 
England, a beautiful home — a home of plenty 
— a home in the hearts of those who loved 
her. The flowers were her companions. 
She saw the sunset, and the painted', clouds, 
and the green fields, and the flowing river, 
and she loved them all. All these sacred 
influences of home and of nature were ele- 
vating to her thoughts, and awaj^.cned a 
love for the pure, the beautiful,, and the true.. 


74 MARIA cheeseman; or, 

Thus was a kind Providence fortifying her 
young heart for the trials and temptations 
through which she was soon to pass. 

But the most eftectual panoply for this 
little pilgrim will be found in her Christian 
nurture. She was taught to pray — to go to 
Christ with her sorrows. ‘‘ She never for- 
got to pray!” 

This is always a beautiful sight — a child 
kneeling by its mother in prayer to the 
Almighty. But oh I how touching is it to 
see a little orphan, through the whole course 
of her wanderings, every night lifting up 
her feeble voice in prayer to the God of the 
fatherless 1 See her alone in that emigrant 
hospital, surrounded by the sick and dying, 
stretched on a bed of sickness, offering up 
in the darkness her simple prayer. See her 
in that dark cellar — fatherless, motherless, 
brotherless — pouring out her sorrows from 
that miserable pallet. Hear her prayer in 
that miserable garret, stretching her weary, 
half-frozen limbs to rest after the toil of a 
wintry day. From that young heart there 
went up the prayer, every night, “ Lead us 
not into temptation; but deliver us from 
«evil.” And does He listen ? Was He there 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


75 


in the hospital — the cellar — the garret — to 
hear the cry of this little one? Does He 
who listens to the choirs of heaven, — that 
innumerable throng of saints and angels, — 
does he hear thy voice, little orphan child ? 
Yes, he hears thy feeble cry in heaven, his 
holy dwelling-place. He bends his ear over 
thy suffering couch, and catches the faintest 
accents of thy lips. He whispers in thine 
ear, “ I will never leave thee nor forsake 
thee.” When thy father and mother for- 
sake thee, then the Lord will take thee up.” 

He will preserve thee from all evil.” “ He 
will preserve thy soul.” 

Let no Christian parent or teacher think 
it of little consequence to teach a little child 
to pray. It keeps the Saviour before the 
soul. It awakens a thousand tender emo- 
tions, and early associations of a mother, of a 
home, of days of innocence, which may lead 
to convictions of sin, and, by the aid of the 
Holy Spirit, to true repentance. 

Many a hardened sinner has wept to 
think of the time when he used to kneel by 
his mother’s knees and say his prayers. He 
feels again her soft hand upon his head, her 
kiss upon his brow, and perhaps her warm 


76 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR. 


tears upon his cheek. Though she is a 
saint in heaven, her presence seems to he 
with him again, pleading with him to make 
her God his Goi Blessed is the memory 
of the man, though unknown to fame, who 
wrote that little child’s prayer — 

“ Now I lay me down to sleep, 

I pray the Lord my soul to keep ; 

If I should die before I wake, 

I pray the Lord my soul to take.” 

How many thousands and tens of thou- 
sands of little children have, at their mothers’ 
knees, uttered this prayer, and in its simple 
language first learned to speak to their Lord, 
and to trust in their God ! How many mil- 
lions, to the end of time, will begin their 
communion with heaven with this simple 
petition ! How often has it been uttered 
with earnestness and faith, and been heard 
and answered in heaven ! 

Prayer is the language of children. Blessed 
be our most holy Saviour, who has taught us 
all to pray as children, and put into our 
mouths those sweet words: ‘^Our Father, 
who art in heaven.’’ Blessed be God, who 
has allowed us this solace in our pilgrimage, 
this glimpse of the heavenly fields from the 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


77 


sorrowful vales of this life — this ascending 
of the human soul, burdened with its joys 
and thanksgiving, its fears, sorrows, and de- 
sires, to its reconciled God, to return again 
— baptized in the light of heaven — ^laden with 
hope, courage, confidence, and love. Such 
is the privilege of prayer — heaven’s boon to 
mortals, most largely vouchsafed to the lowly, 
the sufiering, and the contrite. 



78 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


CHAPTER y. 

THE FAREWELL. 

Maria had spent two happy years with her 
grandmother on the farm, and, according to 
her recollection, she was then about eight 
years old. She says : 

“ I think it was in the spring, my mother 
married a man by the name of Golden, who 
was a coachman in the same family where 
my mother was lady’s-maid. My mother 
sent word to my grandmother, very soon 
after she was married, that she was going to 
America; and that she wished to take me 
and Johnny, who was living at Lewes, with 
my aunt. I felt very sorry to leave my grand- 
mother, but I had to go with my mother. I 
loved my mother, and alw^ays wanted to live 
with her ; and this made me more willing to 
go : and everybody then thought it was such 
a fine thing to go to America. They said 
we should have every thing we wanted, and 
be better off there, and that there w'ere no 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


79 


poor people there. I thought we should 
have a nice house to live in, in the country, 
when we got there ; and that I should live 
with my mother and Johnny, and I thought 
this would he very pleasant. 

«My grandmother made me up a good 
many clothes — some nice ones — a trunk full. 
I had a Bible and some nice hooks, my dolls 
and playthings, my work-box and drawing- 
slate. We were to meet my mother and my 
brother in London, and start together. 

“My grandmother and aunt took me to 
London. I remember we went by a rail- 
road, and there we found my brother, with 
another aunt, who had come up from Sussex 
with him. Wo were to meet my mother 
there the same day, hut she did not come. 
We looked about London all day for her, 
but could not find her. We stayed with a 
friend of my grandmother’s there two days 
before she came. 

“At last my mother came with my step- 
father. I had never seen him before. He 
took my mother and John and me to a 
boarding-house one night. My grandmother 
did not like my step-father because he got 
drunk, the first night he was there. My 


80 


MARIA CHEESEMAN ; OR, 


mother felt badly, and cried all night. But 
he tried to make me like him, for the first 
afternoon he came, he went out and brought 
Johnny and me some cakes. 

“The next day we went in the cars to 
Liverpool. My grandmother was sorry for 
me to go. She kissed me good-by, and then 
stood and looked at us till the cars were out 
of sight of her. I felt very badly to leave my 
grandmother, for she was always good to me, 
and I did not like my step-father. 

“I don’t remember much of the journey 
to Liverpool ; but when we came there, the 
ship we were going in had sailed, and we 
had to wait for another, which was going in 
about a week. W e stayed in a boarding-house 
during this week. I was not much home-sick 
then, for we were most of the time going 
about the docks seeing the ships. I had 
never seen a ship before, and I did not know 
what to ftiake of them at first, they looked 
so strange. We sailed in the ship Catharine 
from Liverpool to 'New York. I think we 
must have sailed in the spring, early, and I 
think it was about five or six years ago. 

“We had a good many things with us. 
My mother had a great many clothes in her 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


81 


trunks, a gold watch, and some jewelry and 
books. I don’t remember very much about 
the voyage. I was sick for the first week, 
and I longed to go back to England, but 
every one else wanted to get to New York. 
They thought when they once got there they 
should have no more trouble. They thought 
it the finest place in the world; and they 
kept talking about getting to New York all 
the time. They said they wanted to see what 
kind of people the Yankees were. They 
thought them very droll people. 

We were six weeks and three days on the 
passage, and we were all tired, and wanted to 
get to land. When We came near to the har- 
bour of New York, I remember a pilot came 
on board, and the people said he was a Yan- 
kee, and 1 ran and told my mother I had seen 
a Yankee. But I didn’t see that he was very 
difterent from other people. When we came up 
the harbour, I remember it was dreadful hot. 

“ When we got to the dock, we saw all 
sorts of people crowding around, and they 
asked us to go to their hoarding-house. The 
cook on hoard the ship had given us a card 
to a hoarding-house, and we agreed to go 
where he told us. We found the people ready 


82 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


to take our baggage on the wharf, and we 
supposed we were going to a nice place. W e 
landed in South Street, I think, somewhere 
near Beekman Street, and we went not far 
to the boarding-house, which was in Cherry 
Street. It was not a good place, and mother 
did not like it. After they got us there they 
charged very high — a shilling a meal for each 
of us. They sold liquor there all the time, 
and played cards all night in the bar-room. 
We had one room by ourselves up-stairs ; but 
my step-father stayed down in the bar-room 
till late at night, and sometimes all night — 
drinking and playing cards. My mother 
could not get him up to her room. Some- 
times he would not come up for the whole 
day and night. He got drunk almost every 
day, and they soon got all his money away 
from him, but mother had some little money 
besides. 

‘‘ My mother did not like the place, and 
she tried to get away. She felt very badly 
and cried sometimes, and said she was sorry 
she had ever left England. After staying 
in the boarding-house a week or two, she 
persuaded my step-father to go out and hire 
rooms, for she wanted to get away. He 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


83 


went out, and after a while came back and 
said he had got a nice place. We thought 
it must be a nice house ; so we went to see it. 
It was at I^o. — , Cherry Street. We thought 
it would be some light upper rooms, and very 
pleasant ; hut when we got there, mother was 
disappointed to find that he had hired two 
rooms down in a basement, (we call them 
cellars in England,) where it was dark and 
did not look pleasant. I never saw such a * 
place to live in before. We did not want 
to go there, hut mother could not help it, for 
she had hut little money, and she wanted to 
get away from the hoarding-house. So we 
moved all our things there, and began to 
keep house. 

“ There was a store over our rooms. The 
steps down from the street were steep. My 
mother always looked* sad and unhappy after 
this. She did not tell me much about her 
feelings ; but I could see she felt badly, for 
she had not been used to living so, and she 
did not expect to live so when she got to 
America. And my step-father was away 
almost all the time, drinking in the shops 
and stores. He said he tried to find work, 
but could not get it. He soon went to 


84 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR. 


Philadelphia to get work ; and after he had 
been there some time, he wrote to my mo- 
ther that he could not get work, and that he 
wanted her to send him some money. But 
she had no money to send him; for she 
needed all the money for ourselves. 

“ My mother had to work hard to get eno ugh 
to live on and pay the rent. She got caps to 
make of a Jew in Mott Street, and I used tx) 
go up after them for my mother. She worked 
very hard, hut she was sick, and looked pale 
and thin. And my brother J ohnny was always 
sick after we came to the basement. His 
legs swelled badly in the hot weather, and 
he hardly could stand on them. He used to 
be sulky, and go up and sit on the steps of 
the store in the sun. Sometimes the man in 
the store would not let him stay there, and 
would drive him down into the basement. 
During this summer my mother kept getting 
worse, and she was not able to earn so much 
by sewing as before. 

“ My step-father did not do any thing to 
help her. He came back from Philadelphia 
in a few weeks ; but he spent most of his 
time away from home, in the stores and 
drinking shops around there. My mother 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


85 


had to earn all the money to support ns ; 
when her money was gone, she began to 
pawn her best things. She pawned her 
watch, and then a plaid dress, then a scarf, 
then a satin scarf and shawl, and almost all 
her nice clothes, until almost every thing 
she had was gone. She expected to get 
them out again when she got money ; but 
she never got them back. She had a few 
nice things which she did not pawn. She 
one day took out of a box a breast-pin and 
some rings ; and she said she did not expect 
ever to wear them, but they would do for 
me some time, but I never saw them again. 
She seemed sick and unhappy. She did 
not find it here, in this country, as she had 
expected. Johnny was sick, and my step- 
father was often drunk, and getting all the 
money he could from my mother. She 
would often cry when we were alone in the 
evening, and I would cry too. 

“I helped my mother a little. I went 
after the caps for her to make, and took 
them back again to the Jew when they 
were finished. I think my mother was a 
good woman, for she used to read the 
Bible with me every day; and she taught 


86 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


me to' pray, and prayed with me every 
night. 

“ After we had been in Cherry Street 
ahont six months, I should think, a woman 
came to live in the house, overhead, who 
had the ship-fever, and Johnny took it. 
He kept getting worse and worse, and the 
people said he ought, to go to the hospital. 

‘‘ The people in the house wanted to get 
him away. He felt very badly, and did not 
want to go away from his mother. But 
they told him he would get well if he went 
there; and they kept talking to him, and 
telling him he must go, and then he said 
he would go. He had to go up to the City 
Hall to get a permit to go to Ward’s Island. 
The man who kept the store took him upon 
his dray, and I went with him. Mother was 
so sick she could not go. Johnny never saw 
his mother after this. 

‘‘ When we got to the City Hall, we had to 
stay a long time waiting, with a great many 
more, to find out whether he could go. I sat 
with him on the bench and tried to comfort 
him. He did not mind much — he was so 
sick. Whfen they got ready to go, they put 
him into a long, covered wagon, with seats 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


87 


on each side, with a great many more who 
were going up. I stayed to see them drive 
off. He went all alone, for he did not know 
anybody who went with him. . 

“He was then, I suppose, eight or nine 
years old. I felt sorry to have him go off 
all alone so, but I couldn’t help it. His 
limbs were swollen very badly, and so was 
his head ; and he looked sick and tired, as 
if he did not care for any thing. But I ex- 
pected he would get well and come home 
again, and that we should live together once 
more.” 

Thus early did Maria begin to taste the 
bitter woes of an emigrant life. Her young 
heart, which had known no sorrow, now 
began to suffer. A few months before, she 
was in a home of plenty and happiness. 
How, disappointment, sickness, and poverty 
were her portion ! Ho more pleasant ram- 
bles through the sweet fields — no more 
flowers — no gazing or watching the beauti- 
ful clouds or the soft blue sky. Ho more 
singing of birds at early morning — no more 
lessons from a loved grandmother’s lips. 
Ho more access to that little chamber where 


88 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


she so often kneeled beside her little white 
bed. Other sounds greet her ears — other 
sights now meet her eyes ! 

How sad are the sorrows of the poor emi- 
grant — especially of the wife or daughter! 
First, comes the sad disappointment. They 
have imagined that they are coming to a 
sort of earthly paradise, where no want will 
ever be known. But the moment they put 
their feet on our shore the delusion van- 
ishes. If they are not left houseless and 
friendless on the docks, their first experience 
is with the emigrant runners. Then come 
the miseries of the emigrant boarding- 
houses, which are often the filthy haunts of 
infamy, and too generally filled with induce- 
ments to drunkenness and gambling. There 
they are often plundered of all their slender 
means, and perhaps of all virtue and princi- 
ple. Then comes a home in some miserable 
street : men, women, and children crowded 
together, breathing the fetid air of one or 
two apartments in a basement. Then the 
search for work — travelling wearily day 
after day — no work to be found, unless the 
most menial, and often none at all. 

Disappointed, poverty-stricken, and dis- 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


89 


heartened, a stranger in a strange land, the 
poor emigrant is now almost ruined. He is 
burdened with a family, with no means to 
remove from the over-crowded city. , 

Disappointment makes him desperate, 
and he becomes a victim of intemperance. 
How the wife and children begin their toil 
by sewing and begging. They become 
paupers, — perhaps criminals. Self-respect 
is gone. They soon become morally and 
physically debased, and so they live on, in 
poverty and vice, until the pestilence over- 
takes them, and they pass away to the pau- 
per’s grave ! Such is the course of thousands 
and tens of thousands who were respectable 
persons when they came to this country, 
with good habits and associations, industri- 
ous and honest. They may be seeking a 
better heritage foi their children ; but when 
they settle in our great cities, they come to 
almost certain ruin. 

Should the care of this mighty throng of 
foreigners landing on our shores be left to 
the civil authorities ? Why should we not 
have benevolent Christian associations on 
a large scale, labouring for the moral and 
physical condition of the emigrants; meet- 


90 MAKIA cheeseman; or, 

ing them on our docks, affording them pro- 
tection, warning them to go at once to the 
country, and to shun the crowded streets of 
our cities as they value health, happiness, or 
life ? Let them be directed to our wide, un- 
cultivated Western regions, where they can 
provide homes for themselves and their little 
ones. 

We have millions of acres of land — the 
finest in the world — to be had for a mere 
nominal price, inviting cultivation, and re- 
paying the labourer a hundred-fold for his 
honourable toil ; while in our cities, swarm- 
ing thousands are starving, clamouring in 
vain for labour, even for the most menial 
service. 

Our’s is the land of freedom and plenty, 
education and morality ; and yet it is the 
land of destruction to many a poor emigrant, 
morally and physically. The reason is, 
that they settle in our great cities, where 
they and their children become demoralized 
by the evil influences which surround them. 
The cure is an open Bible and free schools, 
and a home on our wide uncultivated ter- 
ritories, where the husbandman receives the 
reward of his labour. 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


91 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE HOSPITAL. 

Sorrows now began to thicken around 
our young friend. With a sick mother — 
living in a basement — a drunken step-father 
— her twin-brother and only companion 
gone and lying sick in the hospital ! 

As she passed, during that first summer, 
day by day, from Cherry Street to Mott 
Street, with the caps which her feeble mo- 
ther’s hand had made, every thing must have 
seemed very different from what she had 
been accustomed to in old England. She 
feels a sense of degradation, because she 
knows people look upon her as a child of 
poverty. Her clothes are not as nice and 
clean as they used to be. That desire to 
make a respectable appearance in neatness 
and good taste, so important to a well-bred 
little girl, is offended. Her keen perception 
discerns, in the contrast with all around her, 
and in the cold and disdainful look of other 


.92 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


children, that she is degraded. She is not 
the well-dressed, happy, fondly-loved little 
child she used to be. Day after day these 
delicate feelings of her nature are wounded. 
She is beginning to learn how to suffer. 
She says — 

My brother went to the hospital five or 
six months, I should think, after we came 
over. In about two weeks after he went, I 
was taken sick with the ship-fever. We had 
no doctor and no medicine, and we were in a 
bad place in the basement, and I kept get- 
ting worse ; and the people were afraid to 
have me in the house, and they told me I 
could not get well unless I went to the hos- 
pital. All I remember about it is, that my 
step-father took me away from my mother, 
and carried me in his arms out of doors, and 
put me on a dray which the store-keeper 
above owned, and they drove me down to 
the boat which goes to Staten Island. My 
step-father did not go down to the island 
with me, but left me alone on the ferry-boat 
There was somebody on the boat who took 
care of the sick who were going to the 
quarantine hospital. 

“ There were a good many other sick peo 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


93 


pie who went down with me in the same 
boat. I was so weak and sick that I don’t 
remember much about the hospital; only 
that I was in a long, narrow room, with beds 
on each side standing with the heads towards 
the wall. There were a great many sick 
people there, and I remember seeing one 
girl, very near me, die, and I felt terribly. 
I was alone and quite sick. I could not 
bear to stay there. I was longing to see 
my mother ; and I kept asking the doctor 
eveiy day that I might be sent home. I 
got better after I had stayed there a week or 
two ; but I was very weak and pale. I felt 
so badly, and cried to see my mother so 
much, that the doctor then said I might go 
back to i^’ew York. There were two or 
three girls coming up one morning from the 
hospital, and they said they would take care 
of me. They had never been in Yew York, 
but they thought they could find where I 
lived. I was sick, and near falling down in 
going to the ferry from the hospital. We 
all came up in the ferry-boat together ; but 
when we got to the dock at the Battery, the 
girls did not know where to go to get to 
Cherry Street, and I did not know the way 


94 


MAKIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


So we went walking around, asking people, 
and trying to find it. But we got lost, and 
wandered all around a long time through dif- 
ferent streets. I got so tired and weak that I 
could not see any thing, hardly. It was in 
the summer, and it was very warm walking in 
the hot sun, and I thought I should fall down. 
At last we thought we should have to give 
up finding Cherry Street. Just then I 
looked up a street, and saw the place where 
I used to go with the caps, which was in 
Mott Street, a little way above Chatham 
Street, and then I knew where we were, and 
that we were in Chatham Street, and I told 
the girls I knew the way home ; hut they 
did not believe me at first, and asked me 
how I knew. And I told them about the 
cap-store which the Jew kept, and which 
way I used to go home down Roosevelt 
Street. Then they believed me, and let me 
go home alone. I crossed over and ’went 
part way down Roosevelt Street ; hut I was 
so weak I could not go any farther, and I 
had to sit down on a door-step; and it 
seemed as if I could never go on again. 
When I was rested a little, ,1 went on to 
Cherry Street, wishing so much to see my 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


95 


mother ; and when I got where we lived, I 
stood at the stairs of the basement, but I 
could not go down ; I was afraid of falling — 
I was so weak. The people in the upper part 
of the house were looking out of the win- 
dows, and wondered to see me hack so 
soon. 

‘‘My step-father was down in the basement, 
whittling out a little boat or ship, or some 
such thing. When he saw me, he came up 
and carried me down, and laid me on the 
bed. I felt very sick, and I was so tired, and 
heated, and worn out, that it brought on the 
fever again. 

“I looked around and did not find my 
mother. ‘WTiere is my mother?’ I asked. 
My step-father said she had got the fever, 
too; and had gone to Ward’s Island, where 
Johnny was. I can’t tell how I felt then. 
It seemed as if I should die. I was all 
alone with my step-father in that miserable 
cellar. He said they ought not to have 
let me come from the hospital. 

“ That night I had a dreadful fever, and 
there was no one but him to take care of me. 
He said I kept tossing about, was talking 
wild all night, and kept wanting ‘my«iother ! 


96 


MAKIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


my mother!’ all the time; hut I did not 
know any thing about it. And I don’t re- 
member any thing more until I found my- 
self at the hospital on Ward’s Island, in one 
of the children’s wards. My step-father said 
I was at home two days, but I was so sick 
with the fever that they did not dare to have 
me there, and he had me brought up to the 
hospital on Ward’s Island. I just remember 
the evening when I came to the island ; they 
took me into one of the children’s wards* 
It was a small, white, wooden building, with 
one story, and had only one long room, full 
of sick children on narrow beds. I was very 
sick with the fever, and did not mind much 
for a week or so after I got there. My 
nead felt badly. When I began to get a 
little better, and noticed things, I talked a 
little to the nurse who took care of me. She 
was very kind to me. I asked her if she 
knew where my mother was, and told her 
my mother’s name, and that she was some- 
where at the hospital. But she did not 
know her. I kept asking the doctor, and 
everybody, where my mother was, but they 
always told me she was not there. I never 
could find her, or hear about her. I sup- 


THE CANDr-GIRL. 


97 


pose they were afraid to tell me all about 
her. I thought that she had got well and 
gone hack to i^'ew York; and I tjiought I 
should get well soon, and go hack to her ; 
and I kept hoping this, night and day. 

“ When I was a little better, one morning, 
as I was sitting up, I looked around through 
the room. There were little children and 
babies sick on every bed, I should think fifty 
or sixty of them ; and, at the other end of 
the room, there was my little brother Johnny, 
sitting up, too! He looked sick and un- 
happy. I called the nurse and told her that 
was my brother. She would not believe me 
at first ; but I asked her to ask him his name, 
and she went over and asked him, but he 
wouldn’t say any thing. He did not seem 
to notice. She then pointed over to me, and 
said, ‘ Whio is that little girl over there ? Do 
you know her name ?’ He looked over to 
me, and a smile came over his face, and he 
said, ‘It is Maria^ my sister !’ He knew me 
at once. 

“WTien I began to get a little better, I 
longed to see my mother ; I wanted her to take 
care of me, and I had not seen her for so 
long. But I could not hear of her from any 


98 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR. 


one. I used to think then of my old home 
in England with my grandfather. 

One night I dreamed I had gone back, 
and saw my grandfather, my grandmother, 
and my aunt; and that I was living again 
with them, as happy as I used to be. It 
seemed as if all my troubles were over. 
When I woke up in the morning, I won- 
dered to find myself in the hospital. I was 
disappointed when I found it all a dream. 

‘‘It looked not very pleasant all round me 
in the daytime, for there were so many 
children sick and crying with pain, and they 
all looked sad. I soon got so well that I 
could sit up by my brother’s bed, and I used 
to be with him most of the day, and give 
him his food and medicine. One day he 
got up from his bed and seemed pretty well. 
The nurse let him sit in the easy-^chair, and 
they took the bandage olf his legs, and he 
walked around a little. But* he soon began 
to feel worse, and his legs commenced, swell- 
ing again, and grew cold, and he had to go 
to bed again. He never got up after that. 
When I would sit by him he did not talk 
much. He wanted to go back to mother, 
and he kept asking every day fcr mother. 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


99 


‘Where is mother? Won’t mother come 
and see me?”’ 

Poor, sTiffering children! Alone, sick in 
a hospital; yearning for a mother’s gentle 
voice and affectionate sympathy ! But there 
was no mother there! “I told Johnny I 
thought mother was in New York, and 
when he got better he might go and see her 
again. After I had been there about two or 
three weeks, I took a third fever. Being 
among the sick so much, I suppose, brought 
it on. But I got better of this so6n, and 
then they sent me out of the sick-room into 
the nursery, where the well children stay^ 
and go to school, for fear I would he sick 
again. The nursery was right across the 
way from the ward where I was sick.^ After 
the school was over every afternoon, and be- 
fore school in the morning, I used to go over 
and sit beside Johnny. He was very pale 
and thin. He kept getting worse and worse, 
but I did not know how had he was. He 
would ask me where mother was, hut I could 
not tell him, for I did not know. Sometimes 
he would call out for mother when he was 
asleep, and put out his hands and feel after 
her. 


100 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


“ One morning, when I came in from the 
nursery to see him, the nurse told me he 
was dead. She said he had died in the 
night, and that no one was up watching that 
night. So he died all alone in the dark.” 
(And here the poor child hurst into tears as 
she was relating it.) “The nurse said he 
cried out in the night for some one. She 
thought it was for his mother ; hut he had to 
die all alone, without his mother, for she was 
already dead, hut I did not know it then. 
I went and sat by his bed. He was cold, and 
pale, and thin ; he had been sick so long. I 
sat by him, crying, until they came in for 
him. I saw them put him into a coffin and 
carry him away.” 

“Did you attend his funeral?” 

“ Oh, they don’t have any funerals for 
them that die there. I heard them say 
they carried him to some island, near 
there, I believe, to bury himt I was left all 
alone then. I did not know what would 
become of me. I was kept in the nursery 
with the children. I wanted to get away 
and come to Hew York to see my mother, 
but they would not let me go. I feared 
I should never get away. I thought I 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


101 


should have to stay there until I was 
grown up. 

“People sometimes come there to get chil- 
dren to take as their own. One day a lady 
came to take a little girl to bring up. All the 
girls were together up in the nursery, and she 
looked over them all, and she chose me. I 
wanted to go, that I might get away. But 
they would not let me go, because they 
thought I had friends who might come for 
me. A few days after, the lady came again, 
and wanted me, hut they would not let me go. 

“I tried to learH ".bout my mother every 
day. I felt very badly that I could not go 
to her, and I was afraid I should always have 
to stay there among the poor children, and I 
kept asking every one how I could get away. 

“I used to think then of what a nice home 
I had with my grandmother; and I never 
forgot the Lord’s Prayer, which she taught 
me, and I used to say it every night in the 
hospital, except when I was too sick. It 
seemed hard for me to he so sick so much, 
and away from my mother. I knew God 
did it, and I don’t think I ever felt that he 
was unkind to me. 

“ For two or three weeks after my brother 
9 * 


.102 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


died I stayed in tlie nursery. One day, when 
I was going up-stairs, after dinner, I heard 
some one call out ‘ Maria !’ at the door at the 
foot of the stairs behind me. I knew the 
voice. It was my step-father’s. I felt all at 
once stunned, and I was blind for a minute 
and could not see. I did not know what 
was the matter with me ; I suppose now that 
it was because I was so glad to get away. I 
knew he had come for me. He said he was 
going to take me home, and told me to get 
ready at once. I was delighted to think I 
was going home to my mother. I hurried 
and got all my things in a few minutes, and 
started out of the nursery with him. As we 
were going out, I told him that Johnny had 
died. And then my step-father said my 
mother was dead, too. I stopped, and began 
to cry. He said, ‘ Hush ! there is no use in 
crying now. Your mother died there point- 
ing to a hospital right opposite to where we 
were. It was the first I heard of her since 
I went to Quarantine Hospital. She died 
close to where I had been sick and where 
Johnny died, and we never knew it!” 

Maria says that the nurses were kind to 
her in the hospital, hut that no one spoke 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


103 


gently to her of her soul, or words of Chris- 
tian sympathy, during the long weeks she 
was confined there. Her little brother died 
without any such comfort, and probably her 
mother heard no words of hope and heaven 
from pious lips in her last hours. 

In the name of these little sufferers, we ap- 
peal to the young Christians in our great 
cities, whose hearts burn with the desire to do 
good, to listen to the voice of wailing as it 
comes up night and day from these abodes of 
sorrow. Will they not visit these suffering 
orphans in their affliction, speak gentle 
words of encouragement to them, give them 
a pleasant smile, talk to them of the blessed 
Saviour who loved little children, point them 
to the Lamb of God who died for them, 
and teach the fatherless to say “ Our Father 
who art in heaven?” 

Let their visits be regular and frequent, 
and they will soon be surprised at the amount 
of good they may do these little ones, and 
the sufferings they will alleviate. Soon 
these little strangers will look upon them as 
angels of mercy, 

‘And they an angel’s happiness shall know.” 


' 104 * MARIA CHEESEMAN ; OR, 

They may soothe the dying hours of many 
a little orphan, and others they may awake 
from the lethc^rgy of death to life and joy 
again. Their presence w^d’ always shed a 
gleam of sunlight and gladness upon those 
sad, pale faces. How many who weep over 
imaginary sufferings, or over the sorrows of 
some particular class, or over the woes of the 
human race, and long to alleviate them, might 
here find their abilities and their sympathies 
fully tasked! 

“ When one that holds communion with the skies • 

Has filled his urn where those pure waters j’ise, -» • 
And once more mingled with us meaner, things, 

’Tis e’en as if an angel shook his wings; 

Immortal fragrance fills the circuit wide, 

That tells us whence his treasures are supplied.^ 



THE CANDY-GIRL. 


105 


CHAPTER VH. 

THE LITTLE WORKERS. 

Maria left Ward’s Island an orphan. Her 
mother and brother had found their resting- 
place in Potters’ -field, where strangers are 
buried. She had just heard of her mother’s 
death. . She says — 

‘‘I went with my step-father across the 
river in a boat, and then we took a stage on 
the Third Avenue and came down to Frank- 
lin Square. I asked where he was going to 
take me, and he said he had got a place for 
me to live with Mrs. Dougherty, who kept a 
boarding-house at Ho. — , Cherry Street. 
Her husband was a shoemaker, and worked 
in the basement. I went there with my 
step-father. 

“ I know I looked thin and pale, and every 
one thought I should die. I felt very wretched, 
and wanted to go back again to England. 
1 used to talk to my step-father about it. He 
said he wanted to go back to Ireland, too, 


106 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


and he would go and take a passage. A few 
days after we came back from Ward’s Island, 
he pretended to go down to South Street to get 
a passage for us back to Ireland. He went 
down, but he did not get a passage — some- 
thing prevented it that day — ^I don’t know 
what ; and then he spent his money, and he 
never had enough afterwards to pay for a 
passage, and so I lost all hopes of getting 
back. I never wanted to go to Ireland, for 
I never exactly liked Irish people; but I 
hoped in some way, if I got to Ireland, to 
get back to England to my grandfather’s. 

“ My step-father did not have much work 
while I was in the hospital. He had got 
back the things my mother had pawned, and 
he sold them again^ and got more money. 
He sold all my clothes and my books, all 
the presents my grandmother gave me, and 
spent the money in drink. I had a pretty 
transparent slate, on which I used to draw, 
and which I liked very much ; he sold this, 
and my Bible, too, which .w,as a -present from 
my grandmother. My step-father was a 
Catholic, and would never let me read the 
Bible. He ^aid when people came to this 
country they must read such books as they 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


107 


had here and that they had other hooks 
here, and didn’t read the Bible. He sold all 
the furniture my mother had, and I never 
saw any thing of her’s, nor any of her 
clothes, or any of my clothes, after I came 
out of the hospital, except those I then had on. 

“I was very fond of my marking-slate, 
and of working worsted on samplers, hut he 
sold them all, or gave them away. Some- 
body told me, that he itsed to have mother’s 
things out of the trunks while she was in 
the hospital, and the people around would 
carry them off when he did not know it. 

“When I first went to Mrs. Dougherty’s, 
she kept a number of boarders, and lived very 
well until she got sick. She used to have 
convulsions, and grieved after her children 
who were in Ireland ; and she was sorry she 
came here at all. She came over here with- 
out them, thinking she could send money to 
bring them over. . But she was sickly, and 
could not get the money. After she came 
here she married^ this Mr. Dougherty, who 
was a shoemaker. I used to help her about 
house, and to wash the dishes. In a few 
months after I went there, she sent me out 
to pick up wood, She said other little girls 


108 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


did it, and I could as well as they. She had 
a dreadful temper, and I was afraid of her. 
If I did the least thing out of the way, she 
would call me names, and get mad at me, 
and strike me sometimes. Her husband 
used to torment her. He did not care about 
her. He was not kind to her, and sometimes, 
when he worried her, she would go out and 
sit in the snow and say she wished she could 
die. But he did not care about that. 

“ Mrs. Dougherty made me sew, and treated 
me pretty well for a while. .After I had 
been with her a year or so, she got sick, and 
they sent her to the hospital, where she stayed 
a week or two, I should think. While she 
was gone, her husband went and sold all her 
things — ^her beds and furniture — ^to another 
person who went into the house ; and Dough- 
erty went into the basement to live, and 
boarded in the same house, and I stayed 
there too. When Mrs. Dougherty came back, 
she found her house had been sold out, and 
all her things sold. She seemed to give up. 
She and he then left Cherry Street and 
went into a basement in Catharine Street, 
and I went with them. Her husband then 
went away and left her for a few months, 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


109 


and did nothing for her. She went to live 
then in a Basement in Park Place, and her 
husband came hack and lived with her there, 
and he worked at his trade for a time. 

“ Mrs. Dougherty used to make me get the 
wood every day ; and I learned to sew, and 
worked on coarse shirts. She treated me 
pretty well, only she was very cross. About 
three years ago, I should think, her husband 
went away and left her, and has never been 
back since, and has never given her any 
money. About this time she moved into 
i^’o. — Pearl Street, where she has lived ever 
since. 

“About this time she began to sell fruit 
and candy, and I now began to work very 
hard. It must have been two years and a 
half ago, I should think. My step-father 
did not see me very often, and he never 
gave me any clothes or any money, but left 
me to old Mrs. Dougherty. 

“From that time, until Mr. C took 

me, I had to work every day, selling fruit 
and candy. The old woman would make 
me get up at about daylight, summer and 
winter, and we would go both of us down 
to the market without our breakfast. She 
10 


110 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


would buy_two baskets of fruit, apples or 
peaches, and take the baskets to the corner 
of the church, or Lovejoy’s Hotel, where she 
would leave me to sell the fruit, and go home 
to get breakfast. When she got her break- 
fast she would come out and take my place, 
and I would go home and get my breakfast 
We always had enough to eat. After break- 
fast I would come back and take the basket 
of apples or peaches, and go around to sell 
them. She would make me travel all day. 
I used to go into the Park, to Lovejoy’s Ho- 
tel, then all along Park How to Broadway, 
down Broadway as far as John Street, and 
down John, Ann, and Fulton Streets, into 
the hotels and shops. They would not allow 
us to go into the Astor House. It seemed 
very hard at first for me to go around so, for 
I was barefoot in the summer, and I was at 
first ashamed to go into the stores, and I got 
another girl to go in with me until I got 
used to it. But Mrs. Dougherty made me go. 
She said other girls as good as I did it, and 
as I had no other home but with her, I had 
to do it. 

‘‘ She would bring out my dinner to me into 
the Park at noon, sometimes, and then ‘ I 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


Ill 


would have to go on the same way all the 
afternoon, until dark. Some days I sold 
two baskets of peaches or apples, and then 
I made four or six shillings. This was the 
way I did every day for two years. I had a 
great many customers who knew me. I did 
not know their names, hut I knew their 
faces. She always counted out the fruit for 
me every day, and told me exactly how 
much I must sell them for. After I got 
home at night I had to go around to get 
a basket of chips and wood to burn for the 
next day. I generally got it in new build- 
ings in Beekman Street. Sometimes I had 
to go a great ways for it when I was very 
tired. When I got the wood, then I sewed 
with Mrs. Dougherty on shirts until ten 
o’clock, when we went to bed. During these 
two years I think I worked every day, Sun- 
days and all, in this way. I never had a 
play-day, and never went to church. I al- 
ways had to work on Sunday. I was 
generally sitting on Sunday opposite 
the church or in the Park. It made no 
difference how cold it was, or whether it 
rained or snowed. When it rained, I gene- 
rally went to the corner of Broadway and 


112 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


Vesey Street, under an awning. I sold more 
on such very had days, when no one else was 
out, and that was the reason the old woman 
made me go out. I always had to go out 
on the streets the coldest days in the winter, 
and stay all day. 

‘‘ The old woman would scold at me and 
whip me if I did not. When I came home 
at night, we used to have very little fire, be- 
cause' the old woman got all her coal given 
to her from the City Hall, and she was. very 
sparing of it. 

“I used to tell her that I did not want 
to go out on Sunday, that I knew it was 
not right ; hut she said it was not so had 
for poor folks to work on Sunday as for 
other people ; and she would scold at me, 
and say that I was a lazy, good-for-nothing 
girl, and did not know how much she had 
done for me. She always tried to make me 
think that I ought to work for her until I 
was grown up, to pay her for taking care of 
me ; and she said she had done a great deal 
for me. Sometimes I would miss a good 
bargain, because I could not sell a little 
cheaper to anybody who would take a good 
many ; hut if I did take any less, she would 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


113 


find it out when I came home, and then she 
would search me to see if I had not hid the 
money. I never did deceive her; but she 
used often to whip me when I came home, 
because I had not money enough. 

‘‘ Sometimes a boy would steal away some 
of my apples, and sometimes they would 
not hold out according to her count, and 
then the old woman would get very angry 
with me, and search my pockets or whip 
me. If I did not sell enough she would get 
angry, and call me lazy, and say I did not 
care to sell for her ; that I cared for other 
people more than for her. If any one ever 
gave me money, she would take it away from 
me. I remember, one morning, two gentle- 
men, in the Clinton Hotel, talked to me. 
I was barefoot. They seemed to be French- 
like. They asked me if I had a father and 
mother. I told them no. They then gave 
me a shilling a-piece ; but the old woman 
took it away from me at night. At another 
time, a geptleman in the Exchange Office, 
in Lovejoy’s Hotel, gave me, on Hew Year’s 
day, two shillings ; but the old woman found 
it out, and she took that away from me, and 
pretended she was going to buy something 


114 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


with it for me; but I never heard of it 
again, and I got tired of asking her for it. 

‘‘The old woman was sickly, and her 
temper grew worse and worse every month. 
She got so during the last year, that she 
scolded at me almost all the time I was at 
home. She would scold at me for not getting 
up early enough in the morning, and call 
me all sorts of had names. I had to get up 
before five o’clock in the morning. Almost 
every day she would make out something 
wrong when I came home from selling fruit. 

“ All her trouble and sickness only made 
her more cross to me. She was furious if I 
said I did not want to do what she wanted 
me to. She would whip me one, two, or 
three times a week, and perhaps more. 
When she was angry, she would catch up a 
stick of kindling-wood and strike me on my 
arms or back, or she would strike me with 
her hands. She has often knocked me 
down by striking me with her hand on the 
side of my head. If I cried out very loud, it 
only made her so much the worse. The 
neighbours would hear me cry; but she 
talked so much and so loud that they did 
not like to say any thing to her. 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


115 


There was a Scotchman, a shoemaker, 
on the same floor, and he used to tell me to 
run away from her ; that it was too bad for 
her to whip me so, and that she had no 
right to me. Sometimes, when she was 
scolding me, I would tell her I would go 
away from her. She would say I could not 
get away ; that my step-father gave me up 
to her, and I must stay and pay her for her 
trouble with me. Sometimes she said I 
might go if I wanted to. Once I asked her 
for my clothes, and said I would go; hut 
she never gave them to me, and, of course, 
I could not go without them. Sometimes 
she was so furious I was afraid of her. I 
was afraid to tell anybody how she treated 
me, for she said she would whip me if I told 
anybody about her in any way. Once, in 
Pearl Street, I remember, late one Saturday 
night, she wanted me to go up to Mulberry 
Street to get some cakes and candy for to 
sell on Sunday. I was very tired, for I had 
been out all day, and then, when I got home, 
E had every Saturday to get a double quantity 
of wood for Sunday, and to wash up the 
floor afterwards. It was near ten o’clock, 
and I told her I was tired and did not want 


116 MARIA CHEESEMAN ; OR, 

to go. She got angry, and ran at me and 
struck me with her hand on the head and 
knocked me down, called me a lazy girl and 
indecent names. This was not long before 

Mr. C took me away. Once she hurt 

my head, and I was sick for some days, and 
after that she was careful not to hurt my 
face or bruise it when she whipped me, be- 
cause when I went out it would show. I 
often asked her to let me go and live with 
some person, but she would say I was well 
enough oflT; that many a one was not so 
well off as I, and that nobody would give 
me my board and clothes for what I could 
do ; and she always told me not to say to 
any one I wanted to get away ; that if I did 
she would whip me. 

I never had any new clothes while I was 
with her. She used to make me dresses out 
of her old ones ; and sometimes she would 
buy me second-hand ones at the shops. 
But I was generally very cold in the winter, 
by being out all day long in the streets, and 
often when I went home there was no fire. 
During all this time my step-father never 
came near me. He was away somewhere, 
and he never gave me any thing.” 


THE CANDY-GIKL. 


117 


Thus was this poor bereaved child doomed 
to bondage and misery. Hard toil from five 
o’clock in the morning until ten at night, fiom 
month to month, summer and winter, was her 
lot. Her toil was unceasing. Ho Sunday, no 
rest, no holiday ! All the desires of the child 
for youthful sport were checked. Ho home 
cheered her at night ; no mother’s face, no 
brother’s ^r sister’s welcome. It was hard — 
it was cruel, hut it did not degrade her. 
Labour is always respectable. The honest 
labour of the poor children in the city of 
Hew York is always touching. These little 
things are striving for subsistence — often 
for the subsistence of a widowed and dis- 
abled mother, and younger brothers and 
sisters — grappling with the sternest realities 
of life, and disdaining to beg. Speak gently 
to these little workers. Aid them by a 
kind word as well as by patronage. Do not 
send them roughly from your door. En- 
courage them to honesty and industry. A 
harsh word may drive to madness some de- 
spairing stranger who is seeking an honest 
livelihood, or may chill the heart of some 
poor distressed child — not begging, hut man- 
fully struggling for a loaf of bread. 


.118 


MARIA CHEESBMAN; OR, 


It is terrible to think that by a harsh 
word, thoughtlessly uttered, we may crush a 
wounded spirit. An inquiry into their 
circumstances and trials, and a word of 
sympathy will often cheer a fainting heart, 
and perhaps save from a life of crime or 
shame. 

“I never had scarcely a person speak 
kindly to me in the streets for three years, 
or inquire about me and my circumstances, 
except one or two men in hotels, when I 
went in, barefoot, on cold, rainy days. Ho 
person ever asked me where I lived, whether 
I went to Sunday-school, or if I could read, 
until Mr. C asked me, on Sunday morn- 

ing.” 

Let him who would do good in a humble 
yet most efficient way, follow the little 
freezing beggar, with tears in her eyes — the 
little match-pedler telling his story of a sick 
mother — the boy asking for a job — the street- 
sweeper asking for a penny — the Avoman 
with her perishing children — let him follow 
tnese to their miserable homes. Let him, 
when he finds real suftering and real worth. 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


119 


speak a word of consolation and encourage- 
ment — furnish a little food and fuel, and a 
warm garment or two for half-naked chil- 
dren — then bring a Bible — then lead 
the child to the nearest Sunday-school. 
Such a man would he surprised, at the 
end of a year, to see what he had done. 
He would certainly find many cases of im- 
position. But among these suffering, rag- 
ged, forlorn children he would find many a 
brave little hero, whose life was a battle. 
He would often find examples of piety and 
resignation in the hovels of destitution, 
which would elevate his own faith and 
humble his heart. He would learn to re- 
spect labour, and to feel for the tempted. 
He would find a tide of new and generous 
sympathies filling his heart, increasing his 
happiness, and elevating his nature. He 
would see fearful contrasts between his own 
lot and that of others, between the happi- 
ness of his own children and that of 
thousands around him, which would fill his 
soul with thankfulness to the God of pro- 
vidence. 

Almost any day, in the streets of Hew 
York, you may see a little boy, eleven years 


• 120 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


old, who was driven away from his home 
by a drunken father and a cruel step-mother. 
His father was once a very respectable man, 
and left England when Johnny was quite 
young. After his mother’s death his father 
came to this countrjq and here fell into had 
company, and married a had woman, and 
became a drunkard. His father and step- 
mother banished him from home. He is 
sickly and lame; yet for a long time past 
he has traversed the streets, selling pens, 
pencils, picture-books, pins, matches, &c. ; 
and by this means he pays for his lodging 
at the newsboys’ lodging-house, and buys 
his meals at an eating-cellar in Fulton Street. 
An honest worker is lame Johnny! But 
he is more than this : he is a noble boy 1 
He has a little brother, Willie, only five 
years old, who has also been driven away 
from home, and him has Johnny received 
and provided for. He has employed ’W’illie 
in trade, until now this little fellow traverses 
Hew York, Brooklyn, Williamsburg, and 
Jersey City, alone, prosecuting his lawful 
business with as much confidence and 
shrewdness as a man, making sometimes 
four shillings a day. Johnny counsels him, 


THE CANDT-_GIRL. 


121 


restrains Mm from waywardness and wicked 
companions. TMs little Willie is a brave boy. 
Hear a little of Ms conversation with us : — 

“Willie, why did you go away from 
home ?” 

“ Because I he’s licked every day for no- 
tMng, and mother makes me go a-begging.” 

“ Is not your father kind to you ?” 

“Yes, sometimes, when he ain’t drunk; 
but he gets drunk every day, and so does 
my mother, and then they licks me for 
every thing.” 

“Have you any brothers or sisters ?” 

“Yes, I have a sister older than Johnny, 
who picks up cold victuals, and one little 
brother who can’t walk. He sits on the 
floor all the time, and my mother licks him 
all the time, most, for crying; and if he 
cries when he is hungry, he gets a licking 
too, with a strap.” 

“ What are you going to do, Willie, when 
you are grown up ?” 

“ When I get bigger, I am going to get 
my little brother away, as Johnny got me, 
and take care of him.” 

“ What do you do with the money you 
make ?” 


11 


122 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


“I gives it to Jolinny. He buys other 
things with it.” 

‘‘ Johnny is very good to you, isn’t he ?” 

‘‘Yes: he takes me to Mr. C ’s Sun- 

day-school. But Johnny is sick, and the 
hoys say he won’t live long. He’s got a 
sore on his leg which makes him lame, and 
the doctor he’s trying to cure it, hut can’t.” 

“Where do you sleep, Willie?” 

“ I sleeps at the lodging-house, if I get in 
before they lock up; but sometimes I get 
locked out, and then I walk about the streets, 
sometimes, if it is cold, all night; and some- 
times I sleep on a cart, or in a box.” 

“How much do you spend every day?” 

“ I give sixpence for my lodging, and I give 
ninepence for a cup of coffee and meat for 
breakfast; and I buy a sixpence-worth of 
bread and butter for my dinner, and take it 
with me ; and I don’t get much supper.” 

“ Can you read, Willie ?” 

“Hot much, but Johnny can; he goes to 
day-school every day, and takes me, some- 
times, but I get to sleep there. I don’t like 
school much.” 

So talked Willie, the little pedler, nine 
years old. 


THE CANDY-GIHL. 


123 


Johnny, we hope, is in the way to he a 
Christian. He is always at Sunday-school, 
and frequently brings new scholars with him. 
He attends a day-school regularly, and yet 
supports himself by peddling before and 
after school. 

He is seeking a place in the country for 
Willie, for he says Willie is getting with had 
hoys, who get his money away from him. 

Such is the brief history of one of our 
little worthies. Who is labouring more 
nobly, or doing his duty more faithfully, 
than lame Johnny? You may meet him 
about the streets of Hew York, daily. Be 
kind to him. Speak gently to him, and aid 
him — ^for he is working hard for a noble 
purpose — how much more noble and ac- 
ceptable to God than the aims of thousands 
in our city, whose richly-freighted vessels are 
in our harbours, whose merchandise occu- 
pies our stores, and whose gold and silver 
fill the vaults of our great commercial me- 
tropolis ! 

From among these working hoys it is 
possible, by proper selection and encourage- 
ment, to find good clerks ^nd apprentices. 
Who are more energetic and enterprising 


124 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


among our men of business, than self-made 
men, who have risen from poverty and hard- 
ship? It may be asked, how can we sys- 
tematically reach and aid this class of chil- 
dren ? 

Take one of these boys, and train him up 
to your own business. 

Let every church in the city regard the 
care of these poor children as a great duty, 
and provide some means, by mission schools, 
or otherwise, for their amelioration. 

Sunday-schools, by means of their mis- 
sionary agents, or otherwise, must endea- 
vour to provide homes in the country for a 
certain number of these children, every year. 

Let each Christian and philanthropist 
remove at least one of these destitute ones 
every year to a home in the country. 

Let the Sunday-schools in the country co- 
operate in this work, by seeking places for 
such children in their own vicinity. 

Let Christian families in the country take 
one of tliese boys or girls, and bring them 
up religiously. These children can always 
be found by proper application to the insti- 
tutions that now provide for them. 

Suppose that each of the two hundred 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


125 


Sunday-scliools connected witli tlie 'New 
York Sunday-school Union should thus pro- 
vide each year for ten of these poor chil- 
dren — which would he not less than two 
thousand children each year — who can com- 
pute the good which might thus he done hy 
this simple means ? 

This sympathy with human suffering is 
not religion — it is not faith; hut it is the 
fruit of faith — it is an effect of religion. It 
is in imitation of Christ. He went about 
“healing every sickness and every disease 
among the people.” 

“ But when he saw the multitude, he was 
moved with compassion on them, because 
they fainted, and were scattered abroad as 
sheep having no shepherd.” 

“And he said, I have compassion on the 
multitude, because they continue with me 
now three days, and have nothing to eat. I 
will not send them away fasting, lest they 
faint in the way.” 

“ He that hath not the spirit of Christ is 
none of his.” 

There is force and truth in the following 
poem, written hy a working-man, who knew 

and felt the sorrows of the poor : 

11 * 


126 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


'‘God help the poor, who in this wintry morn 
Come forth from alleys dim and courts obscure ! 

God help yon poor, pale girl, who droops forlorn, 
And meekly her affliction doth endure ! 

God help her, outcast lamb ! She trembling stands- 
All wan her lips, and frozen red her hands ; 

Her sunken eyes are modestly downcast ; 

Her night-black hair streams on the fitful blast ; 
Her bosom, passing fair, is half-reveal’ d. 

And oh! so cold, the snow lies there congeal’d; 

Her feet benumb’d, her shoes all rent and worn ! 

God help thee, outcast lamb, who stands forlorn! 
God help the poor! 


“ God help the poor! An infant’s feeble wail 
Comes from yon narrow gateway ; and, behold ! 
A female crouching there, so deathly pale. 
Huddling her child to screen it from the cold. 
Her vesture scant, her bonnet crush’d and torn ; 
A thin shawl doth her baby dear enfold ; 

And so she bides the ruthless gale of morn. 
Which almost to her heart hath sent its cold. 
And now she sudden darts a ravening look. 

As one with new hot bread goes past the nook ; 
And as the tempting load is onward borne. 

She weeps. God help the hapless one forlorn! 
God help the poor! 


“ God help the poor! Behold yon famish’d lad! 
No shoes nor hose his wounded feet protect. 
With limping gait, and looks so dreamy sad, 
He wanders onward, stopping to inspect 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


127 


Each window stored with articles of food. 

He yearns but to enjoy one cheering meal. 

Oh ! to the hungry palate viands rude 
Would yield a zest the famish’d only feel! 

He now devours a crust of mouldy bread ; 

With teeth and hands the precious boon is torn, 
Unmindful of the storm that round his head 
Impetuous sweeps. God help the child forlorn 1 
God help the poor ! 


“God help the poor! Another have I found; 

A bowed and venerable man is he. 

His slouched hat with faded crape is bound ; 

His coat is gray, and threadbare too, I see. 

The rude winds seem to mock his hoary hair ; 

His shirtless bosom to the blast is bare ; 

Anon he turns, and casts a wistful eye, 

And with scant napkin wipes the blinding spray, 
And looks aroimd, as if he fain would spy 
Friends he had feasted in his better day. 

Ah! some are dead, and some have long forborne 
To know the poor ; and he is left forlorn. 

God help the poor ! 


“God help the poor who in lone valleys dwell. 

Or by far hills, where whin and heather grow ! 
Their’ s is a story sad indeed to tell. 

Yet little cares the world, and less ’twould know, 
About the toil and want men undergo. 

The wearying loom doth call them up at morn : 
They work till worn-out nature sinks to sleep ; 
They taste, but are not fed. The snow drifts deep 


128 MAKIA cheeseman; or, 

Around the fireless cot, and blocks the door ; 
The night-storm howls a dirge across the moor. 
And shall they perish thus, oppressed and lorn? 
Shall toil and famine hopeless still be borne ? 
No! God shall yet arise, and help the poor!” 



THE CANDY-GIRL. 


129 


CHAPTEK Vm. 

THE SCOTCHMAN’S NARRATIVE. 

It may seem to some that Maria’s ac- 
count is the exaggerated statement of a 
child naturally endeavouring to make the 
best story of her trials. In order to ascertain 
from others her real condition while with 
the old woman, a visit was made to the 
former abode of Maria, in Pearl Street. It 
was a spacious house, and might have been 
in some former day the mansion of a mer- 
chant prince ; its solidity, faded ornaments, 
and frescoed halls showing it to have been 
once an elegant residence. It presented 
one of those contrasts everywhere seen in 
the dwellings of the lower wards of Hew 
York, where the most costly and stylish 
dwellings of those who were not long since 
our richest citizens are now the abodes of 
the poorest, the most filthy, and the most 
degraded. 


130 


MAKIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


We sometimes find in one of these fine 
old parlours mahogany doors, beautiful mar- 
ble mantels, frescoed ceilings, carved wood- 
work, dingy, smoked walls, patched win- 
dows, a latchless door, a miserable, dirty 
bed, a few broken chairs, a wash-tub, and a 
little cooking-stove. It is a painful but in- 
structive contrast. 

We passed up the wide stairway of this 
old bouse along three pairs of stairs to the 
garret. The paper was torn from the wall, 
which was discoloured, and peeled, and 
blistered by the weather. The garret was 
partitioned off into apartments, just under 
the roof. There was nothing overhead 
but the rafters and the shingles. In one of 
the apartments of this garret, in the front 
part of the house, towards Franklin Square, 
we heard the sound of a shoemaker’s ham- 
mer, which told us that there was the per- 
son we came to see ; for Maria had spoken 
of a Scotchman, a shoemaker, who had 
been kind to her, and who lived next door 
to Mrs. Dougherty. 

We went in, and were welcomed by a 
good-looking man, about thirty-five years 


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p. 131. 


His wife sat beside him holding a little girl. 


THE CANDY-GIEL. 


131 


of age, seated on his kit, making a book 
He had a fine, open, expressive countenance. 
His wife sat beside him, holding a little 
girl, with a pleasing face, and about two 
years old. The room was directly under 
the roof, and the eaves reached to the fioor 
on one side, while on the side of the room 
towards the centre of the house there was 
just space for a person to stand. There was 
scarcely ten feet square of available room. 
The bed on one side touched the rafters. 
There was a cooking-stove, and the shoe- 
maker’s kit, and one or two chairs, which 
constituted all the furniture of the room. 
The only light came through a scuttle in the 
roof, which was open, and a pleasant March 
sun was shining in, making every thing 
cheerful. 

So neat and tidy was this narrow place 
that it was really attractive, and gave me a 
positive pleasure, and a gratification of taste, 
to look at it. The love of the orderly and 
the beautiful is not always confined to the 
rich. It may be seen in the hovels of the 
poor. A fiower, blooming in the sunny 
window of a neat cottage, gives me more 


132 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


pleasure tlian tlie costly frescoes of a modem 
parlour. 

There was something about this room of 
the shoemaker which is only expressed by 
the word home. There was the happy and 
industrious father and husband, the con- 
tented and loving wife and mother, and the 
beloved child. There was a clock on the 
shelf, ticking its domestic music, and a de- 
mure cat on the bed. There were also a 
picture of the Saviour, and one of a highland 
chief, hanging on the side of the room 
opposite the eaves. 

The wife was talking to her husband, 
holding the baby, and mending a stocking 
all at once, and doing all very well. It was 
a picture of domestic bliss. 

The shoemaker was asked if he remem- 
bered Mrs. Dougherty. 

‘‘Yes, I do,” said he; “but she’s dead 
now.” 

“Did you know the little girl, Maria, who 
lived with her ?” 

“ Indeed I did, sir, and as nice a little girl 
as you would need to know, she was. They 
lived right here next to me — only this board 
partition between us.” 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


133 


He was then asked of the old woman’s 
treatment of Maria. He said — 

“ It was as cruel as it could he. It was 
so had that I could not endure to see and 
hear it, and I thought of just going to some 
magistrate about it. I spoke to the owner, 
or agent, of the house, here, hut he said he 
did not like to interfere ; and all the people 
in this house hut me were Catholics, and I 
was a Protestant, and could not speak to 
them about it.” 

“ The poor little child was whipped every- 
day, and generally twice, as sure as the day 
came around, by that wicked old woman. 
She was so cross nobody could live with her. 
One man hoarded with her, hut he could 
not stand it long. She would get the little 
girl up in the summer at four or five o’clock, 
and in the winter at six or half-past six, and 
send her off, without her breakfast, to 
Washington Market for fruit. Before she 
went out, she would get a beating, more or 
less, for something. Hot a day passed 
without that child getting a beating once or 
twice. Why, I have seen the old woman 
whipping her down-stairs with a stick — 
12 


134 


MAKIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


driving her out of doors in tlie coldest 
winter days to sell apples, when the child 
had nothing on her hare legs, and only an 
old pair of shoes on, and she only half- 
dressed. The poor child was crying, and 
saying it was too cold to go out, and the 
old woman beat her for saying so. She had 
to go out every day, and in all weathers, 
rain or snow. The girl never got any 
thing for dinner generally until she came 
home about four o’clock in the afternoon, 
and then she had to go out again and pick 
up wood before the old woman would give 
her any thing warm to eat, and two to one 
if she did not get a beating before she got 
through her dinner. The old woman al- 
ways had a stick to beat her with, and she 
would catch up any of the wood which lay 
in the corner, and strike her about the 
shoulders. 

“ The poor thing would often cry out, ‘ For 
God’s sake, do not kill me !’ and sometimes 
she would get away and run down-stairs, and 
stay out for hours — afraid to come in. But 
I never knew the child to do any thing 
wrong, or to provoke her, and she never 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


135 


would answer lier back when she whipped 
her. The old woman almost always heat 
her when she came home, because she did 
not sell enough, or came home too soon, or 
her apples did not hold out, or for something 
or other. The old woman used to drink her 
brandy every day regular, and Maria often 
enough had to go for it. She would not get 
drunk, but it made her awfully cross. I’ve 
seen her drink it, and I know it was brandy. 

“The poor child was worked almost to 
death. She was scolded and whipped, morn- 
ing, noon, and night. I have sometimes 
been afraid she would kill the child by her 
abuse ; and I determined, when the gentle- 
man, the missionary, came here for Maria to 
go to Sunday-school, to let him know about 
it; and I told him I would go before a ma- 
gistrate and make an affidavit. After Maria 
began to go to Sunday-school, there was not 
a Sunday morning in which she did not get 
a beating before she went. The old woman 
was always angry to have her go. But when 
any of the Sunday-school teachers came to 
see Maria, the old woman was always very 
pleasant, and glad to see them, and said sho 


136 


MARIA CHBESEMAN; OR, 


was herself more than half Protestant. She 
was saying this to get something. She was 
always trying to get something from every- 
body, and always professing to he very poor 
and suffering. 

“ The man who came to see Maria gave 
her a Bible, and the old woman threw it into 
the coals and burnt it up. The lady Sun- 
day-school teachers gave Maria some cloth- 
ing, and the old woman burnt this up be- 
cause it came from the Protestants. She 
-pretended to be Catholic, but I don’t believe 
she had any religion. After they took Ma- 
ria away from her, she said they had taken 
her away to a bad house, and pretended that 
was all they wanted of her, and that if she 
could get away she would come back to her. 
I told her she was safe enough, I knew. She 
never went out to sell apples after Maria 
went away. She stayed home and drank 
her brandy, until she died, in IS’ovember. 
She had twelve dollars in the house when 
she died, and ninety-four dollars in the bank. 
I suppose the girl made all this money. 
She made from three to six and seven shil- 
lings a-day. All this money her son got. 


THE CANDY-GIEL. 


137 


Ho bought a gold watch and chain, and 
spent all the rest, and then enlisted in the 
army. 

‘‘ The girl did not dare to complain to any 
one about her treatment, because the old 
woman threatened to beat her if she ever 
spoke about it. I believe, indeed, sir, that 
the poor child was at times afraid of her 
life.” 

That half hour with the shoemaker, in the 
garret, was a pleasant one. He came to this 
country a few years since, as he said, “to 
better my condition. They told me this was 
a very free country, and all that, and I think 
it is ; I wish I was back.” 

His statement showed that the account 
Maria had given of the old woman’s trea1> 
ment of her was not at all exaggerated. 
Indeed, no one could talk with her without 
an impression that she was a child of re- 
markable truthfulness and candour, even 
when under very great temptation to exag- 
gerate trials which had brought her into 
much notice. She was always reserved in 
talking of the old woman ; and all the in- 
formation respecting her cruelty was oh- 
12 « 


"138 MARIA cheeseman; OR, 

tained by repeatedly questioning ber. There 
was also a perfect purity of thought and de- 
licacy about the child, which was remark- 
able for one exposed as she had been. In- 
deed, she seemed free from the ordinary 
faults of children. 

After she came from the country, when 
preparing to go to England, she was for some 

three weeks with Miss M , in a family 

with children. Her friends watched her 
closely with curiosity, to see what faults she 
had ; but the lady with whom she was stay- 
ing said, I never could find any thing for 
which to reprove her. She was not in the 
least deceitful, or quarrelsome, or coarse in 
her habits. She was patient and very in- 
dustrious, and I was surprised that such a 
child could be so free from faults.” 

We shall find no explanation of this 
except in her very early training and associa- 
tions, the pious example and religious educa- 
tion she enjoyed, and the prayers of those 
who loved her. Ho parents can know the 
value of these things, until they have seen 
their children pass, unscathed, through the 
fiery trials of childhood and youth. There is 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


139 


meaning in the promise, “ Train up a child 
in the way he should go, and when he is old 
he will not depart from it.” 

During the period that Maria lived with 
Mrs. Dougherty, until the time that she 
was taken to the Sunday-school, she seems 
not to have been under the least religious 
influence or instruction of any kind. She 
never heard a prayer, never entered a 
church, never read a hook, during the whole 
time. She hardly heard a voice of kind- 
ness. The language to which she was ac- 
customed was the ribaldry of the streets, or 
the taunts and rebukes of the petulant old 
woman. 

We have thus given a brief sketch of “ The 
Candy-girl’sV experiences as the little emi- 
grant, the orphan in the hospital, the wan- 
derer in the streets, the dweller in the garret 
and in the cellar, the child of poverty and sick- 
ness, of loneliness, and almost of despair. 
Yet how much of sadness and mourning was 
there deep in the heart of that little orphan 
child, which she can never tell, which none 
but God could see ; and yet how bright and 
true she came out from all these trials and 


140 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


temptations — a wonderful example of God's 
preserving grace aud covenant mercy ! ‘‘ The 
Lord is thy keeper.” “The Lord is thy 
shade upon thy right hand. ” “ The sun shall 
not smite thee by day, nor the moon by 
night. ” “ The Lord shall preserve thee from 
all evil.” “He shall preserve thy soul,” 
“ The Lord shall preserve thy going out and 
thy coming in, from this time forth, and even 
for evermore.” 

How faithfully were these promises fulfilled 
to Maria ! She was exposed to dangers and 
temptations by day and night. Her soul 
was in danger. Her religious views were 
assaulted, yet the Lord preserved her. It 
was the teaching of her grandmother, and 
the reading of the Bible, that were the 
means of preventing her from error and sin. 
Ho child can read this Bible too early, or 
commit to memoiy too much of it. Ho 
parent should undervalue the holy word as a 
means of guarding and restraining their 
children in after life. 

“Wherewithal shall a young man cleanse 
his way,?” “By taking heed thereto ac- 
cording to thy word.” “Thy word is a 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


141 


lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my 
path.” 

‘‘ The entrance of thy word giveth light. 
It giveth understanding unto the simple” 



112 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


CHAPTER IX. 
home! sweet home! 

Our little wanderer was now about to re- 
turn to her native shores, to the only home 
she had ever known. That same hand that 
had led her over the ocean to this land, 
which had so mysteriously guided her youth- 
ful steps through scenes of poverty and 
wretchedness, which had guarded her from 
pestilence and sin, and raised her up from the 
borders of the grave, was now about to lead 
her back again to her old home, even while 
yet a child. After all her wanderings and 
sorrows, she was once more to hear the soft 
accents of love, and once more to be folded 
in the arms of parental affection. 

She was to sail in the London packet 
called “ American Congress.'’ The owners of 
the line generously offered to carry her for 
nothing, but her grandfather had forwarded 
sufficient funds to pay her fare. She was to 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


143 


cross tlie ocean alone, without a protector, 
but she said she was not at all afraid 
to go. 

Wishing to enlist the sympathy of the 
captain, we went as a friend of Maria’ to 
see him, and told him an orphan child was 
to he committed to his care, and gave him 
a little of her history. His generous heart 
warmed, his eye kindled, and we saw 
he was the man to be her protector. He 
was told that if on his arrival her friends 
were not waiting for her, it would be unsafe 
for her to be left alone in London as she had 
been on her arrival in Hew York. He 
stretched himself up, and his weather-beaten 
face grew darker, as if indignant at the 
suggestion : ^‘Hever mention it, never men- 
tion it, sir,” said he; am a father my- 
self. I’ll not leave the poor girl until I see 
her safe with that old grandmother. I’ll go 
down to Kent with her myself. I want to 
see those English farmers — they are some 
of the nicest people in the world. I’ll take 
care of her as if she was my own daughter 
— never fear me for that.” 

The ship was to sail on Tuesday, the 9th 


144 MARIA cheeseman; or, 

of January. On the day before, Captain 

W called on Miss M with whom 

Maria was staying. He wanted to see the 
child. He said he could not sail until 
Thursday. 

The delay was a great trial to Maria. She 
was anxious to go, hut did not complain. 
Yet it was evident this one subject engrossed 
her whole heart. Poor child! it was no 
wonder ; — with all the memories of her early 
childhood and her happy home thronging 
her mind, in strange contrast with the scenes 
of want and suflering from which she had 
just emerged. 

On Thursday it stormed hard, and she 
was again doomed to disappointment. The 
ship could not sail till Friday. The trunk 
which had been so well packed had been 
waiting in the hall for three or four days. 
That little black trunk was a great affair to 
her. It was her’s — full of her things, and 
she had a memorandum of every article in 
it. Yet still little presents of hooks kept 
coming in with all sorts of kind words on 
the blank leaf, and each of them found room 
in that little trunk, and each brought a happy 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


145 


smile to Maria’s face. She said she should 
read them all when she got to England. 

On Friday morning Maria seemed happy 
as a bird. Our last hours with her were 
affecting. She had by her gentleness and 
truthfulness greatly attached all her friends 
to her. We felt that we were parting with 
her for years — perhaps forever — or until we 
should meet beyond the shores of time. The 
ship was to sail at noon. As we talked to 
her about meeting her grandfather and 
grandmother, and of seeing Old England 
again, her face was radiant with excitement 
and smiles. Her heart was full of it, so full 
that it was painful to divert her thoughts to 
other subjects. She had her bonnet on at 
ten, and the hour from ten to^ eleven was a- 
long one. 

A few moments before we started for the 
ship, the family and a large number of Ma- 
ria’s friends gathered in the parlour, and we 
opened the Bible, and read from Psalm xci. 
about that God who is our refuge, our fort- 
ress, and our habitation, so that no evil will 
befall us ; who will give his angels charge 
over us to keep us in all our ways, even upon- 

13 


146 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


the mighty deep. And we also read from 
Psalm cvii. of Him who commandeth and 
raiseth the stormy winds, which lifteth up 
the waves thereof — who maketh a storm a 
calm, so that the waves thereof are still, and 
who also setteth the poor on high from afflic- 
tion. We then kneeled in prayer, and com- 
mitted Maria to the safe-keeping of that God 
whose protecting hand had shielded her 
‘Childhood amid the depravities and dangers 
of this great city. We prayed for her aged 
grandparents, and for a joyous meeting with 
them, and especially that the Saviour would 
make her one of the lambs of his flock. 
There were present the friend who had first 
rescued her from the streets ; the lady who 
had visited her in the wretched garret and 
taken her to Sunday-school ; and many 
friends of the family, too, with whom she 
was staying. All felt that she was a child 
of God’s special providence, and that He 
would care for her still. 

The time had now come to leave for the 
ship, and the carriage was waiting. Maria 

was to go with Mr. C and another person. 

Miss M did not intend to go. Maria then 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


147 


bade eacli person farewell, except Miss M , 

who had gone into the hall. When Maria 

came to Miss M , she put her arms around 

her, and burst into tears, saying, ‘‘ Oh, I wish 
you would go down with me.” The appeal 

could not be resisted, and Miss M , with 

another lady, and the two gentlemen, ac- 
companied her to the ship, lying ofl* Peck 
Slip. As they were leaving the house, one 
of the party asked Maria if there was any 
one place she would like to see before leav- 
ing 'New York. She thought for a moment, 
and said, 

“I was thinking I would like once more 
to see the old church.” 

“You shall see it, by all means,” said her 

friend, “ and the very spot where Mr. C 

found you on New Year’s morning.” 

The driver was directed to go through 
Park Eow, and down Beekman Street, to 
the dock. As she passed that venerable 
church, she looked out of the window and 
took her farewell of it. 

How many weary days, months, and even 
years, had she passed it in her toil ! Yet it 
was a Beth-el to her. She was on this very 


148 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


spot when the first faint ray of hope dawned 
on her dark path^ On this corner of the 
streets she had ofiered many a feeble prayer 
while devout worshippers within listened to 
the voice of earnest eloquence. Both, we 
trust, wqre heard in heaven ! 

The two ladies and Mr. C were to go 

down to the Hook on hoard the vessel with 
Maria. She seemed most to feel the reality 
of parting when she came on board the ship, 
and went into the little dark cabin and 
smaller state-room. As the lady began to 
take out some necessary things from her 
trunk and to put them into her state-room, 
the tears were filling her eyes ; hut she re- 
pressed them. She now began to feel that 
she was really going, and going alone. But 
she was not to go quite alone. Mr. and Mrs. 

P , from Virginia, were also passengers. 

Mrs. P— — was a young married lady. Maria 
was introduced to her, and enough of her 
history was told to awaken at once an interest 

in the child. Mrs. P took her on her 

lap, and said, “We will he nice friends, won’t 
we ?” Her sympathy at once won the child. 
They were friends, and Maria seemed happy 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


149 


again. A steamer towed the ship down the 
harbour to the Hook. 

Years before, she had come up that beauti- 
ful bay, and with hope and joy beheld the 
city. iTow, with more hope and joy, she was 
bidding it farewell. How like a dream the 
scenes of life must have passed before her ! 
— long years filled up with sickness, mourn- 
ing, sorrow, want, toil, and despair. But 
they are all passed ! The tempest is over. 
The dark rolling cloudy are breaking up. 
The sunlight is streaming forth upon the 
mountains and valleys, all greener and fresher 
for the passing shower, while millions of 
glittering drops sparkle on every leaf and 
blade of grass, and all nature smiles with 
seeming gratitude. Maria is homeward 
bound, and she is happy. 


There is a land, of every land the pride, 
Beloved by heaven o’er all the world beside. 


‘‘ There is a spot of earth supremely blest — 

A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest. 

“Oh! thou shalt find, howe’er thy footsteps roam, 
That land thy coimtry, and that spot thy home.” 
13 * 


150 


MAEIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


Captain W must now become the 

biographer. He says : ‘‘ The passage was long 
and severe. We were over forty-five days 
out, and arrived in the latter part of Febru- 
ary. I had a good opportunity of seeing 
Maria. She was cheerful, gentle, and af- 
fectionate, and her manners were remark- 
ably good for a child of her opportunities. 
I never saw any thing wrong in the child 
duidng the whole passage. When we ar- 
rived at Gravesend, Maria and myself left 
the ship, and went up to London by railroad. 
And after I had finished my Custom-house 
business, and we had dined, (for you know 
we sailors don’t live without eating,) we 
started, about four o’clock in the afternoon, 
on the South-eastern Railway, for Sellinge, 
in Kent. We found that we could not get 
within nine miles of Sellinge, that night. 

When we arrived at Ashford, I procured a 
private conveyance to take us to Mr. Cheese- 
man’s. It was dark and cold, and Maria 
said little. As we drove on, we made in- 
quiries for Mr. Cheeseman’s house ; and 
when, as I supposed, we were near to the 
house, I asked Maria if she would know the 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


151 


farm. She said she thought she could re- 
member it ; that it was a large square house, 
with a garden around it. We now ex- 
amined every house as we passed it, till, at 
last, Maria cried out, ‘There it is! that’s 
it!’ 

“We got out of the carriage and went into 
a large front yard, and found a man there 
with a lantern, who told us it was Mr. 
Cheeseman’s house. We went in at a side 
door, which opened into an entry leading 
to a front room. And as we opened it, 
an elderly woman, tall and thin, hut very 
active, was passing^ through the entry, with 
a light in her hand. Maria sprang forward, 
crying, 

“ ‘ Oh, grandmother !’ 

“And the old lady received her in her 
arms, and exclaimed, 

“ ‘ Why, Maria, my dear child, is it you ?’ 

“ In a moment, they passed from the entry 
into a front room, and Maria rushed up to a 
stout, grey-headed man, in small-clothes, 
with long stockings and knee-huckies, sitt- 
ing in an arm-chair, saying, 

“ ‘ Oh, grandfather !’ 


152 


MAKIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


“ And the old man started np, opened his 
arms, and clasped her to his bosom, sobbing, 
‘‘ ‘ My child ! My child ! My lost child !' 
‘‘ And he bowed his head upon her shoul- 
der, and they both wept together. 

“ After the first rapture of meeting, Maria 
sat down between the old folks ; and then 
they looked at her in a sort of amazement. 
But the old lady could not keep her hands 
off, but took hold of Maria, and, looking 
earnestly in her face, said, 

“ ‘ She is like her mother ! She is like her !* 
and then there was silence.” 

Who can tell the joy gind sorrow of these 
moments ? 

“Life has moments bright as brief, 

When the bliss of years, 

Pressed into one golden drop, 

Sparkles and exhales in tears. 

Such the hour — so passing sweet — 

When true hearts, long severed, meet. 

“Life has seasons when an hour 
Lengthens to an age of woe ; 

When the stream of time sweeps on 
Silently, and dark, and slow. 

Such the hour — so dark, so lone — 

When the loved are dead and gone.” 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


153 


“After this scene of meeting was fairly 
over,” continues the captain, “ the old lady 
began herself to get us a supper, and if I 
had been a prince, I could not have been 
treated better. She ^was very smart, and 
went about the house like a girl of fifteen. 
She put upon the table every thing the 
house afforded. After tea, we talked till 
bed-time, and the burden of the conversa- 
tion was the surprising fact that entire 
strangers should have cared and laboured 
for the deliverance of their grandchild. 
They could not understand it. They were 

profuse in their thanks to 'Mr. C and 

Miss M , Maria’s first and latest friends. 

Their friendship for her was a great wonder 
to them, and they seemed overcome with 
gratitude. They were working farmers, 
‘and,’ said the old lady, ‘thank God, we are 
very comfortably off*. I do my own work, 
although I am seventy-three years old ; and 
now I have Maria to help me, we shall get 
along very nicely. I can teach her as I 
used to, and she will stay with us, and be 
a comfort in our old age.’ 

“ When bed-time came, Maria, after kissing 


154 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


her grandfather good-night, went up stairs 
with Mrs. Cheeseman. It was the room 
which, five or six years before, she oc- 
cupied.” 

Is it too much tq suppose that they 
kneeled together again at the foot of that 
little bed, and once more prayed to the God 
of the fatherless, who had never forsaken the 
httle pilgrim ? And how sincere must have 
been the praise and gratitude arising from 
those two hearts — the aged and the young ! 
On this very spot, years before, the one had 
taught the other to lisp the words of prayer, 
— the same prayer which a thousand times 
in after years, in sorrow and sickness, in the 
cellar and garret, in the hospital and in the 
streets — had gone up from her young and 
burdened heart to her Saviour and her God, 
and had been hea^d and answered in heaven, 
his holy dwelling-place. 

But we must leave the little candy-girl to- 
night, and let her go to sleep, after the good 
old grandmother embraces her tenderly and 
kisses her good-night. 

We may he sure that our returned wan- 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


155 


derer was up in good season the next morn- 
ing, as the first rays of the sun darted cheer- 
fully into her hed-room. And her heart must 
have throbbed with emotion as she opened 
her window for the fresh morning air, and 
looked out upon those familiar old trees 
overhanging the street — upon the houses in 
the distance — upon old Barrow Hill, bathed 
in the morning sunlight — upon the meadows 
where the green grass was just ready to 
spring up, with that quiet little river run- 
ning through them, its glittering surface un- 
broken except where the budding willows 
drooped lovingly on it. 

How familiar each object, and yet how 
strange ! How the whole scene calls back 
other days ! How like an old friend every 
object appears, and seems to welcome her 
return ! ‘‘ It is my home ! my own dear 

home!” her heart whispers. 

Captain W says that, after break- 

fast, the old lady sat down and talked with 
him about Maria, and told him that they 
often heard from her and her mother before 
her mother’s death, but that since then they 
had lost all trace of her ; that they wished 


156 


MARIA CHEESEMAN; OR, 


to have her return to England, and they em- 
ployed a friend of their’s to look her up, but 
they never could find her or hear of her, 
and that at last they gave her up as dead 
or lost. 

“ ‘And now,’ said the old lady, ‘we shall 
be happy. Maria can live with us now we 
are getting old. Maria’s mother was not 
my own daughter : she was my step-daughter; 
but I have loved her as much as if she were 
my own child. I have no children of my own, 
but I have made Mr. Cheeseman’s children 
mine, and I have tried to he a good mother 
to them.’ 

“ "When Mrs. Cheeseman and Maria went 
out to clear away the breakfast things, I 
took occasion to say — 

“ ‘ Mr. Cheeseman, I have got some money 
for you.’ 

“ ‘ Money for me ! What does that 
mean ?’ 

“ ‘ Why, sir, you sent out twenty-five 
pounds to fit out Maria for home and to pay 
her passage, and her friends in ISicw York 
have,/ after paying all her expenses, sent 
back by me twenty-eight dollars, which they 


THE CANDY-GIRL. 


157 


directed me to pay to yon, and here it is in 
American gold.” 

A long parley ensued, and the old man pro- 
posed several ways of disposing of the money 
which he absolutely refused to keep. It was 
at length determined that it should he sent 
back to N'ew York, to be deposited with 
Miss M , Maria’s early friend, for bene- 

volent purposes. This was done, and the 
amount was divided between the “Home” 
and the two Sunday-schools in which the 
poor child had received shelter and instruc- 
tion. 

And here we leave the subject of our 
narrative. By the good hand of God upon 
her, she has been preserved in all her wan- 
derings, and returned in safety to her rela- 
tives and a comfortable and peaceful home, 
where we trust she will devote herself— body, 
soul and spirit — to the service of Him who 
has been her helper and deliverer. 

The history of her childhood is a beautiful 
and impressive illustration of the guiding 
and protecting providence of God, and a 
most emphatic testimony to the value of 
those institutions of benevolence which af- 

14 


158 


MARIA CHEESEMAN. 


ford sympatliy to the suffering, protection 
to the friendless, and instruction to the 
ignorant. 

May they be multiplied a hundred-fold, 
and never lack the means of accomplishing 
their beneficent ends ! 




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L The Voice of the New Year to 
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21. “ Without me ye can d 

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24. The Retrospect of a Year. 


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